In the Forest of the Night
by Lady Azar de Tameran
Summary: Permanent Hiatus. AU. Sequel to How to Tell the Truth from the Lies. Salazar Slytherin has returned and is determined to save the magical world at any cost, even from itself. A Harry is Salazar story. HPLL.
1. Into the Abyss

**_In the Forest of the Night_**

**Disclaimer**: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work. I own nothing except Salazar's wife, son, and various other original characters. This story is an AU of sixth year, but it will contain a few spoilers from _Half-Blood Prince_ and _Deathly Hallows_. However, it will still seriously diverge from canon. Also, this story is a sequel and will not make any sense without first reading _How to Tell the Truth from the Lies_.

* * *

"blah": dialogue

'blah': thoughts

**_"blah"_** : Parseltongue

_"blah"_: Legilimency/Telepathy

_Italics_: excerpt from a book /newspaper or any other written form

**Bold**: a word or phrase that is emphasized

**_Italics, Underlined, and Bold_**: location/date of a scene in the story

* * *

**Prologue: Into the Abyss**

The rain spattered to the ground, and the already soggy earth degenerated to muck and slime. Her heart pounded in her aching chest, urging her to walk faster, despite the heavy basket in her hands. She felt the faint stirring of a breeze at her back, but it only served to make her step even quicker. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and she could feel it in the very air. It oozed all around her, twisting and bending its way through the trees.

She stepped faster, ears straining at every sound, even as her breath echoed through them. She didn't hear anything, however, not even birds. Her eyes darted all about, though not much was visible through the rain, which had now lightened to a drizzle. Still, she didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Her gaze drifted from the leafless trees to the few remaining plants on the forest floor. There was nothing, not anything that would make her this way, make her know that she was in danger.

Once more, her eyes roved around. And she finally looked up. There was a dense, grey-black cloud hanging in the air high above her. It coiled through the sky, drifting away and becoming indistinct as it did so. And it took her a minute to realize it for what it was.

Smoke.

She ran.

Braches whipped by, grabbing at her clothes. One caught her on the arm, but she frantically pulled herself free. She hurried on, ignoring the angry, red scratches on her skin. She raced through the trees, feet sliding through the muck. She misstepped but managed to right herself and simply kept going. Her mind was too focused to even notice the vague but still persistent jab of pain that shot through her ankle with each step.

At last, she saw the end in sight, and she half-hobbled, half-ran through the wreckage of the gate. Her basket, which had managed to make it all the way through her frenzied dash, slipped from her suddenly limp fingers and now laid forgotten in the sludge. And she walked dazedly into the village, eyes taking in the now smoldering fire. The ruined buildings. The charred bodies.

And there was blood… so much of blood. It coated everything. The houses, the burnt trees, the people, the very earth. The remaining walls were coated in it, covered with finger marks and handprints. The trees were soaked, and it dripped to the ground, making it seem as though they wept the foul substance. The mud burned red with it like a river of molten fire that was now cooling in the evening air.

There simply was blood everywhere, on everything. Nothing was left untouched.

Not even her. Not anymore.

She just stumbled through the town, taking in the sight of her home ravaged and nearly razed to the ground. Her light blue eyes widened as she saw the bodies of her neighbors, her friends, her family. All that remained of them were their mortal shells, their souls having departed some time ago. Well, truly only part of their shells remained, and her fragile mind didn't want to think about what had happened to the rest of them.

She hoped, prayed, pleaded that some had been able to escape. That some had transfer into Death and avoided the slaughter, but with their bodies gone, there was no hope of that now. There was no anchor to pull them back; there was nothing for them to hold on to. They were gone; that was it. They were gone. They were dead. Really dead. And they weren't coming back. Not in this lifetime.

And the guilt, the horror, the sadness tore through her, but she couldn't cry. She ached with the need but didn't cry; she simply lacked the ability. The tears wouldn't come, and she was so far beyond them that she doubted she would ever be able to cry again.

She staggered on and came up to the barely standing remains of her house. She paused, dead blue eyes staring back at her. There was another girl lying in a doorway. Her mouth was open in a silent scream with her face turned to the side.

She knew this one, this person. And her heart shattered.

It was her sister. Her beautiful sister, who lacked tangible magic but was still so special, who always laughed and smiled, who was always willing to offer a helping hand. It was her sister. The one who was ill, who she had just spent the day collecting herbs for.

Her wonderful sister was dead. Her family was dead. Her home was destroyed. Everything was gone. Everything she had ever known. And in that moment, something within her died, too.

Siobhan sank to her knees, her hand trailing down the broken wood of the doorframe. And though no tears were forthcoming, she still wept.

* * *

AN: All right, boys and girls. We have officially moved onto the second fic of the series, and I couldn't be happier. I know this is a bit… well… different, but the story will get darker from here on. It will still have its fluffy and light moment, but the kid gloves have come off. The rating might go up, but I'm not sure.

In case you are wondering, this scene was referenced in chapter thirteen of the last story, _Sister of the Raven_.

_Chapter One:__ November Reign_

* * *

Ever Hopeful,

_Azar_

**Updated and Edited:**

**06/27/08**


	2. November Reign

**Disclaimer**: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work. I own nothing except Salazar's wife, son, and various other original characters. This story is an AU of sixth year, but it will contain a few spoilers from _Half-Blood Prince_ and _Deathly Hallows_. However, it will still seriously diverge from canon. Also, this story is a sequel and will not make any sense without first reading _How to Tell the Truth from the Lies_. Finally, there is a paraphrased quote from Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic that is not mine either.

* * *

"blah": dialogue

'blah': thoughts

**_"blah"_** : Parseltongue

_"blah"_: Legilimency/Telepathy

_Italics_: excerpt from a book /newspaper or any other written form

**Bold**: a word or phrase that is emphasized

**_Italics, Underlined, and Bold_**: location/date of a scene in the story

* * *

**Chapter One: November Reign**

**_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva's Rooms: November 8th, 1996 (Night)_**

Twenty-five years ago if someone had asked Bellatrix Black where she saw herself in two or three decades she might have said she would be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. It was an ironic thing considering her love of the Dark Arts, but she had always hated the myriad of teachers they had in the subject, especially since they could never manage to keep one more than a year. On the other hand, Bella might have said she pictured herself as an Unspeakable for the Ministry, which would be a rather interesting career, and they had in fact tried to recruit her several times before her loyalties became known. Besides, the Dark Lord had been merely on the rise then, still over a year away from becoming a massive and hulking threat.

She would have gone on to say that she envisioned herself happily married to a man of her choice. Maybe it would be to Sirius' friend Remus, who she had secretly fancied since fourth-year. Or perhaps even Kingsley Shacklebolt, the dreamy Keeper on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. She would have said that she had the wedding of her dreams, a small one with just her closest friends and family. She would have also mentioned children. Hopefully, there would be at least two of them, a girl and a boy.

What Bellatrix would not have stated was that she pictured herself hiding out in Minerva McGonagall's quarters, on the run from both the Ministry and the Dark Lord. She would have not mentioned that her own father, the ignorant and racist bastard that he was, had betrayed her, forcing her to bond before she was even legally an adult and to a man twice her age. She would not have said that she would be pregnant by someone other than her husband. Not that she really considered them married as she hadn't actually agreed to the union.

Lastly, she wouldn't have said that she would be having one of the most awkward conversations of her life with her own nephew of all people, attempting to make the last few weeks into some semblance of sense. Even now, she was speaking to him, though she wasn't quite sure how much she was helping. He was her nephew, but he had never met her before. Well, not that he remembered at any rate. Come to think of it, not that she really recalled either.

Damn Azkaban.

Regardless, they were still family, and she had to try. She just didn't know what to say.

'I mean,' Bellatrix thought to herself and glanced at him over her teacup, 'how exactly am I supposed to make this better? His own mother tortured him! She tried to give him to Tom, for Salazar's sake.' She inhaled slowly, still watching the boy closely, though he didn't really seem to notice.

He was far too wrapped up in his own thoughts to even realize what Auntie Bella was doing, not that she could really blame him. The teenager was forlornly staring into space, his finger occasionally tapping against the table. His tea was completely untouched, the magical cup patiently waiting for him to take a sip, and he hadn't yet sampled one of the house-elves' biscuits. He simply sat there, tired eyes glazed over. Occasionally, he would shift in his seat or fidget, rather uncharacteristic gestures for the normally in control Slytherin.

Still, it eased her conscience to know that he trusted her enough to drop his usual mask in her presence. Or perhaps he simply couldn't be bothered to care that she was there.

And for a moment, Bella actually wished that his friend Neville had come along, despite how much more awkward that would have undoubtedly made the situation. The Gryffindor at least would have been able to pull Draco out of his… whatever one would call this mixture of restless energy and complete apathy. On the other hand, she was grateful that he hadn't and that she was able to put off that confrontation for another day. Though Bella wasn't entirely sure how much longer she could.

"She does… did care for me, you know." Draco finally interrupted the lingering silence, though he stumbled over his word choice. "I know that you probably don't believe me when I say it, but she did. Narcissa kept me from the Dark Lord during the summer," he explained and blinked slowly as his foot tapped against the floor. "She made sure I didn't have to take the Dark Mark or have to do that task he wanted me for."

Bellatrix grimaced, remembering all too clearly. Narcissa had approached her, begging for her sister to help her only child. Apparently, their Lord had wanted Lucius to pay for his failure at the Ministry, and what better way to do it than to mark his only heir and then send the boy on a suicide mission? Truthfully, that was what Draco's quest amounted to, for who could hope to successfully outwit Albus Dumbledore in his own domain. Narcissa, though a conniving sycophant, had figured out the Dark Lord's plan and had come up with one of her own.

However, it hadn't been maternal instinct that drove her to such a thing. It had been the fact that she knew he would fail and that his failure would be reflected on her, which is why she had wanted her sister's assistance in roping in Severus in her little plot. She had wanted the Potions master to help Draco due to his position at Hogwarts, not caring at all that she was merely putting both him and her son in greater danger. That hadn't mattered to her in the slightest. She had only wanted to buoy Draco's chances of success and by proxy her own estimation in the Dark Lord's eyes.

Nevertheless, Bella had seen her younger sister's ploy for what it really was and had staunchly refused. Without the other witch to back her up, Lady Malfoy hadn't been able to persuade Severus by herself, so she had left her son to flounder on his own. Fortunately, however, Bellatrix had gone to her Lord afterwards, doing everything within her power to convince him not to punish the boy, to come up with a different plan. He had thankfully dropped the matter.

Still, her frown deepened. She ran a trembling hand across her now churning belly when she remembered exactly what she had done to sway him to her point of view.

It was a… **difficult** memory, and thinking about it only made her temples start to throb.

"But I suppose," her nephew went on, not privy to her internal ponderings, "that at the time, Narcissa just wanted me to wait until I was of age." He scowled and ran a faintly shaking hand through his blond hair. "Probably so I could actually use magic away from school without bringing the Aurors swarming down on top of us."

Bellatrix made a neutral sound, not really knowing how to respond to that. She oscillated between complete agreement and trying to cushion the truth. Her head pounded painfully, but she still managed to quickly decide that honesty was probably the best course.

"It's possible, but I don't suppose we will ever know the real reason." She paused and desperately wished that she had a Headache potion. Perhaps Minerva had one stashed somewhere. "In any event, have you thought more on your situation?" Bella inquired in a gentle tone.

Draco's scowl deepened. "Yes."

Her head throbbed a bit more. "And?"

The teenager sighed. "I haven't been able to think of anyone else. There's only Severus, but he won't work for obvious reasons." Draco snorted, grey eyes looking at her dully. "After all, Voldemort would simply order him to turn me in."

"I know, but you need a guardian," the witch insisted patiently, despite the persistent pounding behind her eyes. "And if we don't come up with one soon, the Ministry will appoint one for you."

"You think I don't know that!" he all but growled back, anger clearly evident in his voice, but it was short-lived. Soon enough, it was replaced by the same tired tone from before. "Forgive me, Aunt. I just--"

"I understand," she interrupted, buoyed by the fact that he had actually mentioned their familial connection. "We just need to step back and think about this logically. Let's take a minute to consider our options.

Draco nodded but didn't say anything. He merely titled his head to the side and steepled his fingers together in a very Dumbledore-esque gesture. In turn, the witch continued to look at him for a moment more, but Bellatrix soon followed her own advice. She exhaled, mentally cursing her fool of a sister and the woman's dratted husband the entire time.

The recent captures of Lucius at the Department of Mysteries and Narcissa at Hogwarts had left an unforeseen consequence, and she couldn't help but hate both of them for it. For once in their despicable lives, their son actually needed them, and they weren't even around. They were both rotting away in Azkaban instead. Nevertheless, he needed them, if only in a legal sense. Draco Malfoy, their son… their only child, was without a guardian.

Thankfully, he was old enough to choose his own, but he had to do so before the end of next week. The Ministry had already been delayed on obtaining one for him since it had still been reeling from the recent battle, but they refused to be put off any longer. Further, the Ministry had already outright refused to emancipate him due to his parents' affiliations, despite the fact that he had clearly shown he didn't agree.

Even the mighty Dumbledore wasn't much help with Draco's situation. True, he was attempting to reenact a provision from the first war that allowed the children of Death Eaters to be wards of the school, but he had been doing so since June when the Ministry had finally recognized that the Dark Lord's return. The blasted thing was still not approved, and there was no way it would be in enough time to help Draco. It was up to the professors along with a not-so-reluctant Bellatrix to come up with a different solution.

"Truthfully," Minerva had confessed to her a few days earlier, "we – the professors – should have realized beforehand that something like this could happen. No one did, and we only have ourselves to blame."

Bellatrix readily agreed. This was their mess. It was something they should have anticipated, but it fell to Draco to pay the consequences. Still, she couldn't entirely stifle the flare of guilt that it was partially her doing as well. If she hadn't been so foolish in her younger days, if she hadn't followed the Dark Lord, is she hadn't gone to Azkaban… none of this would be a problem.

It was her fault, too, which is why she was currently sitting in Minerva McGonagall's parlor, attempting to find someone to be her nephew's guardian for the next seven months. They could be certain that they would not like anyone the Ministry appointed to the position, especially not with the lingering Death Eater ties several key members still maintained.

Unfortunately, they hadn't been able to simply secret Narcissa away and pretend she wasn't at the battle like they had for many of the captured Death Eaters. Too many students had seen her for them to ever pull that one off. It wasn't that they didn't trust the children. But all it took was for one to say something indiscreet, and the Kneazel would be out among the pixies. Draco without a guardian was a problem; the Ministry knowing the Order took prisoners would be a catastrophe.

Under normal circumstances, Draco would simply be handed over to his parents' immediate family, but even more problems laid there. Lucius' next closest kin were very distant cousins since everyone else was long dead. Including his parents and his older brother, who had died in a freak accident at their manor a few years before Draco's birth. On Narcissa's side, there was only Bellatrix herself, Andromeda, the Tonks girl, and a few more distant relatives. The first wasn't an option for obvious reasons, and the middle two had been officially disowned. Technically speaking, the eldest Black sister and her daughter couldn't even be legally considered on those grounds alone unless Narcissa gave them formal permission. And the likelihood of that was roughly around the same as Argus Filch becoming the next Minister of Magic. Nobody even wanted to contemplate the last choice since most of the people in that group were Death Eaters themselves or sympathizers to their cause.

As a last resort, there were always the heads of the Malfoy and Black families, but there were even more problems with that. Lucius was the head of the Malfoy line with Draco as his sole heir, and the Ministry had already refused to leave the young man under his own care. On the other side, Sirius was dead, and his heir was still underage and under the guardianship of a non-family member to boot. Harry was actually younger than his prospective charge, and the Ministry definitely wouldn't emancipate him so that he could immediately turn around and do the same for someone else.

There were always others, mostly friends of the family, to consider. Severus was definitely the first one who came to mind, but with his role as a spy for the inner circle, he wasn't a viable option. Not only was the Dark Lord certain to order him to bring Draco in, but there was the possibility that the Potions master could be revealed as a traitor at any time. There were a few others, but with so much unknown about them, the Order wasn't willing to take the chance. For all they knew, they could be handing the Slytherin over to an enemy.

All told, this was just one big, legal mess that only succeeded in giving Bellatrix a migraine. And try as she might, she just couldn't think of anyone they could possibly choose that would actually have Draco's best interests at heart, at least not anyone in the position to really help him.

They simply didn't have any options left, and they were running out of time.

The sudden sound of the Proximity wards chased both of them from their thoughts. Draco's wand magically appeared in his hand, and he rose and stepped over to the corner where he would be hidden from view. Meanwhile, Bellatrix instantly jumped to her feet, casting a one-way Revealing charm on the door and walls. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was only Minerva, but she still followed her nephew's example and moved to the side, mostly due to the fact that her presence in the castle was only known to a select few. It wouldn't due for her to be seen by a passing student.

The door opened, and the Transfiguration professor strolled in like nothing was amiss, as if she wasn't hiding an escaped Death Eater. The woman raised an interested eyebrow when she noticed her company, eyes lingering on Draco for an instant before she exchanged a nod with her houseguest. This was the first Bella had seen of her all day, and while she had a sneaking suspicion where the other witch had gone after classes ended, she didn't dare say it out loud. Still, she couldn't help but allow a small twitch of her lips as Minerva took the place next to the reseated Draco.

The older woman studied both of her companions for a minute, taking in their frustrated faces. "I take it that you still haven't come up with anyone."

Draco shook his head, but it was Bella who replied.

"No, we haven't."

"And I don't think we ever will," the Slytherin said softly, though it was more to himself than to them.

"Perhaps… or perhaps not." Minerva paused, studying him intently. A few seconds went by before she ventured, "Are you sure that you considered everyone? Even Lucius' second cousin?" Her nose crinkled as she struggled to remember. "The one who attended Beauxbatons. What was his name again?"

"Gabriel, and yes, I considered him. But he'd never take me." He exhaled heavily. "Not after the way fa-Lucius insulted him and then challenged him to duel." Draco ran an agitated hand through his already disheveled hair. "A duel that my cousin lost rather badly, I might add. Though I do believe he has finally regained use of his hands and arms by now."

"Hm… what about on your mother's side," the deputy headmistress put in slowly. "I know that Andromeda would take you in an instant; we just have to find a legal loophole for it to work. Perhaps I can ask Arthur Weasley about it. I know that he…"

Their conversation went on, washing around Bella, but she didn't join in. Instead, she chose to remain silent, simply listening and observing them. Draco face was surprisingly animated now, despite the fact that they had already gone over this once before. The former Slytherin would have thought him to find it tedious, but he seemed to be at ease.

Now that she really watched them, there was something odd about the way they interacted, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what. Bella narrowed her eyes and looked at them closely. Perhaps it was the way Draco had eased after his professor arrived, the way his blank expression softened. Maybe it was how the normally strict teacher looked at him with something bordering on pride, an expression she usually reserved for her Gryffindors or favored students. Or it could be something else entirely.

Bellatrix all but stared at them now, considering just what she was seeing. However, her companions didn't seem to notice, or they attributed to something else. And she just watched as they interacted and noted how easily they talked.

This was entirely unexpected.

There was no way a Slytherin Prefect should be this close to the Gryffindor Head of House, especially not if she believed the stories Narcissa had told her about her son. He had only really started being amicable to his professor this fall, and a few weeks of pleasantries wouldn't be enough to erase five years of disrespect. She should be neutral to him, not looking at him like a proud parent.

Something strange was going on here, and though she didn't know what, Bellatrix intended to find out.

* * *

**_Order of the Phoenix Safe House: November 9th, 1996_**

Arthur Weasley wasn't what most people would normally consider a violent man. Sure, he was a loving husband and father, who would do anything to protect his family. He did become angry at them occasionally, but he never hurt them in any way, not physically nor with his magic. The same was true for anyone else he had ever met. He only used force when it was absolutely necessary, and even then, he was reluctant. He just didn't like fighting and generally avoided it, though he was willing to make an exception for Lucius Malfoy.

Regardless, there was something about the way Augustus Rookwood was currently looking at him that made Arthur want to throw open the cell door and throttle him within an inch of his life. The man was simply watching him through the lone clear wall of his cell, which was supposedly so laced with wards that he couldn't even sneeze without alerting someone, namely the house-elves assigned to watch him. Much like the other captured Death Eaters, he was isolated, trapped in a room within a room and without any sort of privacy.

His lips curled into a condescending sneer as he cast another glance at his visitor. His lank hair hung over his face, obscuring his normally vivid green eyes that would be eerily similar to Harry's if they weren't a lighter shade. However, Arthur could see enough of them to know that they didn't twinkle with mischievousness like those of the reborn Salazar. Instead, they gleamed with open disdain, fully mocking everything and everyone in the room. Even his pockmarked face was twisted, forming a superior expression, and he showed his complete disregard for his visitor by turning away and resolutely staring at the far wall.

And Arthur felt a fresh wave of annoyance. Not even remembering his mission or using Harry's words like a mantra in his head could calm him completely. While he wholeheartedly agreed with his younger colleague, that didn't mean he found his task any simpler.

As Harry had said, "_What greater weapon is there than to turn an enemy to your cause – to use their own knowledge against them?_"

But that was far easier said than done.

He was trying. Maker help him, he was trying, but Rookwood was just being contrary. He simply threw back Arthur's words right in his face. Maybe he should have just listened to Alastor.

Moody had proposed that they milk as much knowledge out of Rookwood as they could and then turn him over to the Ministry, where the Dementor's Kiss awaited him on his recapture. However, Arthur hadn't been so sure, and it had been on his word that they had agreed to keep the ex-Unspeakable around. The redhead had thought that maybe… just maybe they could use him for something more than information. They could really and genuinely reform Rookwood, turn an enemy into a true ally, just as their onetime comrade had once become an adversary.

If Bellatrix Black could repent and atone for her actions, then why couldn't his old friend.

And perhaps that was the crux of the whole problem. Augustus had been his friend. He had been a trusted confidant for years, and now, he was an enemy. But Arthur still recognized something of his former roommate when he looked at the man in the cell. Plus, if Arthur was really honest with himself, this was the best chance they had to gain valuable information about Voldemort. There was no way of ever knowing how much Rookwood actually knew, unless he had a vested interest in providing them with it.

Even Veritaserum would not give them everything. Sure, it would force him to tell the truth, but they had to know the right questions to ask first. The truth was often a matter of perspective. It depended on a person's point of view, so it was possible to skew results if the questions were vague, not worded correctly, or the person just viewed the situation differently than expected. Additionally, there were some types of magical oaths that prevented someone from unintentionally divulging information. In such a case, they had to be willing to tell, which meant truth serums were useless. The person had to want to talk. It wouldn't force them to say anything; it just guaranteed that they couldn't lie to anyone about it.

Voldemort was known for using such things since they required less effort and power to maintain. He banked on the fact that his followers were either too loyal or too cowed to ever willingly disclose his secrets. And they understood exactly what he would do if he ever found out they were treacherous to his cause.

Basically, this all translated to mean that they really needed to convince Augustus Rookwood to talk. They needed his help to end Voldemort's reign, and the bastard knew it. He was an inner circle member, a trusted one, too. That was something not even Severus or Lucius Malfoy could boast. As far as Arthur knew, Rookwood was one of the top lieutenants. He had been second only to Bellatrix after Malfoy's complete disgrace. Undoubtedly, his estimation would rise even higher if he ever returned to his master now that the witch was supposedly missing in action and Dolohov, the only other real competition, was dead.

If only they could convince him to talk, to change his mind. To have an epiphany like Bellatrix had. However, that would require his cooperation, which Arthur was sorely lacking.

He still should have given the git Veritaserum. He just knew it. That way they would have gotten some straight answers. Of course, those answers probably wouldn't be the ones they were looking for, but at least, they wouldn't be complete rubbish. Unlike what Rookwood was giving now.

"So what exactly are you looking for, Arthur?" the Death Eater asked casually, sitting on his makeshift bed and leaning up against the wall. "It can't possibly be information. Or is it?" He tapped his chin with his forefinger. "I had thought you smart enough to know better, and weren't we such great friends?"

"That was a long time ago," the redhead put in, somehow managing to keep his voice level. "And apparently, I never knew you as well as I thought. After all, I never saw your betrayal coming." He evenly gazed back at the other man, issuing a silent challenge.

The ex-Unspeakable was quiet for a moment. "So it seems." He turned his head to look through the clear wall separating them. "Though I do believe you are the traitor, not me."

Arthur did everything within his power not to stiffen. "That is a matter of perspective."

"No, I don't believe it is." The man idly pushed his dark hair from his face.

"Really?" Arthur tilted his head. "And why is that?"

"I know what you're doing, don't think that I do not." Rookwood sat up and chuckled mirthlessly. "Always the clever one, Arthur. An Eagle in Lion's clothing. Though with your hardworking spirit, perhaps a Badger in Lion fur would be more apt." He went on, inspecting one of his hands. "Either way, I still know. You're trying to start a dialogue, get me talking… seeing if I let anything slip. Then afterwards, you would use what I'd given as an inroad with Veritaserum." He nonchalantly buffed his fingernails against his prison robe. "It's standard Auror procedure. Standard for the Unspeakables, too. I'm surprised that you even know it."

The Order member allowed a little smile. "Oh, you would be surprised by what I know."

The pockmarked man actually seemed interested. "Like what?"

"Well…" Arthur stretched the word out, thinking carefully.

He had an opening here. Rookwood's interest was peeked. He had several possible lines of thought, but he didn't know which to follow. Still, the redhead knew that he needed a reaction, a strong one. He needed something to set the other man thinking, and he knew the surefire way to do that.

Arthur narrowed his eyes and took a calculated risk. "I know you," he added, "or at least, I used to. But you've changed, Augustus. You aren't the same person anymore."

The ex-Unspeakable's eyes flashed, and Arthur knew he had hit a sensitive spot.

"You don't know anything about me," Rookwood hissed back. "You never did. You were far too taken with your own concerns. You and Apollo both." The Death Eater glared, daring Arthur to contradict his words. But he instantly recalled their situation, his face transforming back to a disdainful mask.

And though there was a thick wall and multiple wards between them, the redhead couldn't help but notice how dangerous the other man looked in that moment. Even considering the fact that he was completely unarmed. He didn't even have proper clothes on, much less have a wand. Nevertheless, for all Arthur knew, Augustus could still be proficient at wandless magic. The wards would hopefully be able to stop anything Rookwood could possibly throw at him, but one never knew.

A minute passed, and the Weasley patriarch didn't respond. Honestly, he wasn't getting anywhere, and he knew it. He had gotten his reaction. But he had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't quite the one he had wanted. Besides, Augustus wasn't in a very receptive mood now, not that he had been to begin with. Yet, maybe a few days without anyone to talk to would change that.

"I'll be back later," he finally said and took a step back. However, his gaze remained on the Death Eater.

Rookwood snorted and turned away. "Don't bother. You won't be getting anything from me anyway."

The redhead continued to linger for a moment more, but eventually, he just shook his head. He turned away and walked to the door, nodding to the Order member who had been standing there throughout the entire conversation. The dark-skinned and rather young woman nodded back, her eyes remaining fixed on the Death Eater in the cell, just like they should. Arthur vaguely recalled she was an Auror trainee and decided that she was probably a good one, but the thought was chased from his head a second later.

As Arthur stepped from the room, his mind drifted back to his former friend, and what had just been said. He couldn't help but wonder if he really should have listened to Moody.

* * *

AN: I know that neither Harry nor Luna made an appearance, but they will soon enough. This chapter was basically meant to provide a foundation for a few of the plotlines, which is why there also wasn't any action in it. And yes, I know this was rather short, but not all my chapters will be twenty pages long. I am trying to make them somewhere within the eleven page range, which roughly translates to around 4000 to 5000 words per chapter. Anything shorter or longer just doesn't sit very well with me. Besides, the first few chapters of _HTTL_ were much shorter anyway.

**Things to think about**: Bellatrix doesn't know about the Founders; will she ever find out? Who will be Draco's new guardian? Will they ever get anything useful from Rookwood? What sort of things does he know? Does my explanation for Veritaserum make any sense?

_To everyone who read or reviewed_: Thank you so very much.

_Chapter Two:__ Son of the Serpent_

* * *

Ever Hopeful,

_Azar_

**Updated and Edited:**

**06/27/08**


	3. Son of the Serpent

**Disclaimer**: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work. I own nothing except Salazar's wife, son, and various other original characters. This story is an AU of sixth year, but it will contain a few spoilers from _Half-Blood Prince_ and _Deathly Hallows_. However, it will still seriously diverge from canon. Also, this story is a sequel and will not make any sense without first reading _How to Tell the Truth from the Lies_.

* * *

"blah": dialogue

'blah': thoughts

**_"__blah"_** : Parseltongue

_"blah"_: Legilimency/Telepathy

_Italics_: excerpt from a book /newspaper or any other written form

**Bold**: a word or phrase that is emphasized

**_Italics, Underlined, and Bold_**: location/date of a scene in the story

* * *

**Chapter Two: Son of the Serpent**

**_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, The Headmaster's Office: November 10th, 1996 (Late Night)_**

When he was a child, Tristan Slytherin had hated his father. He had loathed the man for leaving him, for leaving his mother all alone. He had ranted and raged about him, about how he had abandoned them. He had detested the man for making his mother so sad, for leaving her a good-as-widow before she was even twenty-five, for causing her to be a ghost of her former self. He had wished that Salazar, wherever he was, would just fall over and die. And it wasn't until he was older that he even realized that wasn't possible.

Salazar Slytherin was already dead, had been since his only son was an infant.

His mother had been the one to tell him, and even years later, he had still reeled from the revelation. But he had believed her. He had known that she was absolutely correct. It was her gift… and her curse. Death was her realm. It was her master and her servant. If someone she loved died, Siobhan would know it.

He had forgiven his father before he reached adulthood. Tristan had actually begun to pity him by the time his own children were born, when he had realized just what it was the man had lost. Salazar had missed it all: the first words, the first steps, his child's entire life.

But death wasn't an excuse. There wasn't really an excuse for something like that. He should have been there; he should have been present when they needed him the most. And Tristan wasn't sure he could ever forget that. But then, Harry had yet to forget, had yet to forgive himself.

One thousand years later, Tristan still had the bluest eyes imaginable, a gift from his mother. He was much older now, which was a given, even factoring in his reincarnation. His hair had faded to white and was thinning, much to his chagrin. His face was lined and wrinkled, but he didn't regret either of those, simply thankful to have managed to live long enough for that to even occur. Despite his hardships, his skin was still rosy and a smile could almost always be found on his lips, indicating just how much he liked living. It gave him a boyish charm, if he did say so himself. And Minerva had agreed with him, albeit with a great deal of laughter.

Of course, he did go by a completely different name now.

Albus Dumbledore.

However, none of his ever-present cheer was obvious today. His head was in his gnarled hands with his eyes firmly shut, his phoenix pinion dangling free. He was at his desk, papers strewn all about him. Some were anxious letters from parents, demanding to know what he was going to do to protect the school. Others were from the Ministry, either useless inquiries into Wizengamot policy or pleas for help from frantic workers.

He was an old man, too old for this… too tired for this. He should be slowing down, taking it easy at his age, but Fate seemed out to get him. If it wasn't one catastrophe, it was another. He had defeated Grindelwald, only to have his own student become the next menace. He had faced Voldemort and his followers, only to have to do so again less than two decades later. He had finally gotten the school into some semblance of order after the disarray Dippet and his predecessor had left it in, only to have it infiltrated by spies and muddled by the Ministry.

He was so very tired, and he wanted nothing more than to fade into the background, to enjoy his last years with his grandchildren. He wanted to get to know Salazar again, really know him, continue what he had started with Harry. But duty called, and Albus was never one to ignore its summons. There was much to be done and very little time in which to do it.

The rest of the Ministry needed to be mobilized. The new Minister was doing a lot, but it was too little, too late. They didn't have nearly the number of Aurors they needed. Maker, they didn't even have the amount they were supposed to have in peacetime, much less during a war. Bloody Fudge and his cutbacks. Blasted Malfoy for convincing him they were necessary.

Further, Scrimgeour had yet to make any inroads to the major players in Britain: centaur herds, werewolf packs, vampire covens, Banshee clans, or even the Goblins. As of now, the best case scenario was neutrality. They needed to send envoys to each of them before they decided to believe Voldemort and his promises of a better life for all magical beings, but the Minister was far too proud for that, far too enamored of the purity of blood. He thought wizards better than such lowly beasts. He didn't even like Muggles and Muggleborns. Much less non-human, Dark creatures.

Additionally, the Wizengamot needed to pass new ordinances to replace the ones that had been repealed after the end of the first war. There weren't even provisions for the combatants they had captured. Currently, their prisoners from Halloween were under the guard of the Department of Mysteries and Director Avis, who refused to turn them over to Scrimgeour until he had a location secure enough to hold them. According to Artemis, Azkaban was compromised, and she wasn't going to have the Death Eaters sent to a place they could easily break out of.

Not only that but the headmaster was still fighting to get custody of the Death Eater's minor children, and he needed to work out the problem of Draco's guardianship. Thankfully, Minerva and the castle's newest addition were working on that, so he shouldn't have to worry. But that only seemed to bring him to his next problem.

Bellatrix Black was a mystery wrapped in an enigma or however it was the saying went, and with his memory the way it was now, he couldn't quite be sure about such things anymore. Regardless, she was a conundrum, and the fact that Harry vouched for her couldn't completely stifle Albus' curiosity about the entire situation. The old man remembered when she had been a student, and he had been heartbroken when someone with so much promise had joined Tom's ranks. She had always been a clever one, powerful and mischievous when she wanted to be, much like Severus and Sirius in those regards. The headmaster had had her pegged for the Defense post and had actually gotten old Horace Slughorn, the Slytherin Head of House, to groom her for position. Albus had hoped that someone with her talent and personality would be enough to overcome the curse. Perhaps someday he would finally have the chance to find out.

Now, she was back with them, the prodigal daughter returned home, and he had been so glad to learn that she had never descended completely into the abyss, that there was something worth saving in her. Bellatrix was here, and there was something different about her. There was a calmness to her, a tranquility to her that had never been there before, especially not after she had been sold by her own father. Her future child brought her what she had always been looking for. A purpose, a reason for being other than a means to increase her family's status. Albus was curious about the baby, very much so. He knew it wasn't Rodolphus', something he was secretly grateful for, but he didn't know the identity of the father. Not that it really mattered in the end. Still, he chalked it up as another to put on his endless list of things to work out, and he probably wouldn't even get to it in this lifetime. He just had so many other things to do first.

There were things with the Order to deal with beforehand. They actually had a few new members, including Hogwarts' very own Defense professor. However, their numbers were too low to do more than reconnaissance and similar activities, and with the Minister's refusal to approach other species, it was up to their organization to pick up the slack. Dominic had agreed to contact the others of his kind, but there was no telling what they would do. For the most part, vampires tended to avoid wizards, preferring to live among the Muggles. Bill was dividing his time between the Goblins and his project with the lovely Hermione, but he hadn't seemed to make much progress on either front. Even Remus' attempts with his fellows had been rebuffed.

It was almost like they were waiting for something, some sign. It was as if they knew something was coming. Perhaps was already here. Or maybe they were simply weary of being dragged into the humans' wars with each other, tired of have everything to lose and nothing to gain.

Sometimes, Albus felt exactly the same way.

Moments ticked by on the old mantle clock that Filius had charmed for his birthday one year, and it chimed, signaling that it was a very late hour indeed. Regardless, Albus just couldn't motivate himself to get up. Even when Fawkes fluttered to his desk and trilled for him, he still couldn't find the energy to get up. All around him, his repaired instruments whirled and puttered, oblivious to his mood. Some even wobbled slightly in a testament to the strength of Harry's rage and sorrow.

And perhaps that was the crux of his current woes. He just didn't know what to do with Harry. Or any of the others for that matter. As Tristan, he had never really known the man, could barely even remember him. However, as Albus, Harry was his friend, his beloved adopted grandson. Sure, they had had their difficulties, but they were close. The old man had given up on trying to distance himself from the boy, even if it was for his own good. Now, he just had to reevaluate where they stood.

But maybe his dilemma wasn't the teenager at all. Perhaps his difficulty was just that he was so very tired. Still, it just seemed that things always involved Harry, revolved around him, centered on him. Everything always came back to Harry, his Harry. Everything tied back to Salazar. The wronged friend, the slighted sibling. It all connected to him.

And Albus Dumbledore was determined to figure out why. If he could only find the time and the energy to do so.

* * *

**_Hogwarts, The Third Floor: November 11th, 1996_**

Harry Potter was not happy. He fought the urge to stomp down the hallway, his memories of Salazar and his dignity the only things stopping him. Still, he was determinately striding, his dark robes billowing out behind him in a decidedly Snape-esque fashion. His face was set in an icy mask that would do the selfsame Potions master proud, and it quickly sent all curious onlookers scurrying back to their business.

Maker how he loved being Slytherin. It made projecting a dangerous aura so much easier. He now understood why Severus did it all the time, especially with the way the _Prophet_ had taken to calling him the "Chosen One," the "Hero of Hogwarts," or his personal favorite… the "Golden Gryffindor."

Harry snorted to himself at that thought and strode, resolutely not stomping, around the corner and down the stairs. As he went, his green eyes flickered to a Hufflepuff, who was gazing at him speculatively. However, she promptly busied herself with her bag at his glare and almost dropped it in her haste to move away. A small, barely noticeable smirk tugged at his lips, but it was wiped away as he passed by a Ravenclaw. The fourth-year glanced up at the reborn Salazar as he neared and opened his mouth, only to snap it shut an instant later when Harry raised an eyebrow. The boy swiftly scampered away, hugging the wall the entire time.

Somewhere in the castle, Severus had to be dancing a jig in the face of his stellar facial expressions. Harry just knew it. No longer did he have to reach for his wand to be left alone or use his fellow Gryffindors as a shield. He couldn't wait to try it on Rita Skeeter the next time he saw her, and he fervently doubted she would be pulling him into another storage cupboard anytime within the next decade.

Still, even that whimsical thought was not enough to calm him. Harry was not happy, not happy at all. In fact, he was so far beyond not happy that the phrase shrank in comparison to how he currently felt. He was furious, frustrated, frenzied. Perhaps even a bit fearful.

And it was all the damn vampire's fault! Well, maybe not entirely his fault, but a large part of the blame did belong to him.

Stupid Defense professors and their interfering ways. If only they could learn to keep their long, slightly pointed noses to themselves. If they didn't have Voldemort in the back of their head, they were trying to gain more publicity. And if they weren't trying to take control of the school, they were really Death Eaters in disguise. The only decent one of the lot was Remus, and that was counting how he tried to eat three of his students while in wolf form.

Harry snorted again, fighting the scowl that threatened to erupt, thinking back to what had led to his current situation.

Dom had just had to pry into his affairs, to question him about how things were with Severus and Albus now that the old man knew. It didn't matter that things were strained with one and mostly fine with the other; it was still Harry's business. And the vampire needed to butt out. It didn't matter that Severus had taken to all but avoiding him for the last two weeks or that the man refused to even look at him in class or when they met with the other Founders. Regardless of that, Harry didn't need to spend all of his waking hours with Dominic, time that they should have either spent dueling or working on defeating Tom, talking about his personal difficulties.

To add insult to injury, Dom had gone even further. He had asked after Inferi again. Their talk before Halloween had apparently not been enough for the vampire, not after he had seen firsthand just how Harry reacted to them. It wasn't enough that he knew the reborn Salazar feared them more than anything or that he knew why. He had to press, find out what had gone wrong on Friday during the DA meeting.

It wasn't Harry's fault that Inferi had been the thing he had feared the most as Salazar. Dementors hadn't even existed at the time. Nor was it his fault that during the meeting, when they had wanted to practice Patronuses on his boggart, that it had turned into an Inferi instead.

And he didn't need to talk out his problems with his Defense professor either, especially since the man obviously had delusions of being a Muggle psychologist. Perhaps **he** was the one that really needed professional help. After all, one could only live so long without going completely mad. Dumbledore was only a hundred and fifty, and he was already a barmy old coot most of the time. Dom was over fifteen hundred; he had to be entirely crazed by now.

"Potter! Oy, Potter. Slow down."

Harry's mental ramblings abruptly ended, and he turned around. A caramel-skinned Slytherin was headed towards him, walking quickly to catch up. It was a sixth-year. Blaise Zabini, if he remembered correctly. He was in Draco's group and had fought to protect Hogwarts, which meant he was somewhat trustworthy and shouldn't be a threat.

Regardless, Harry sent him a glare, not really wanting to be bothered. But Zabini didn't even bat an eyelash and kept coming. He was apparently impervious, most likely because he was a Serpent himself. Harry sighed as other student pulled up alongside him, mentally reminding himself that this was an ally and not someone he needed to protect himself from.

Doing his best to keep his suddenly weary voice neutral, the reborn Salazar asked, "Was there something you wanted?" He gave the other wizard an appraising look, silently feeling him out.

The Slytherin nodded, smiling at his year-mate's expression. "Yes, do you mind if we talk in private?"

The use of Silencing spells to block out their conversation didn't even need to be mentioned.

Green eyes narrowed ever so faintly. "Is it going to take long? I'm supposed to meet my girlfriend for dinner."

Zabini seemed to be thinking it over. "It shouldn't."

Harry considered for a second before gesturing at a classroom door a little ways down the corridor, mentally checking with Hogwarts to see if it was unused. She sent him an affirmative, promising to be on guard if the other teenager tried anything. His half of the Phoenix Gate warmed underneath his robe, also letting him know that it was looking out for him.

Thankfully, Zabini decided to go in first, obviously deciding that he would make his companion more comfortable that way. He even allowed Harry the privilege of erecting the Silencing spells himself, a show of faith on his part. When he was finished, the Gryffindor actually put his wand away and motioned for Zabini to start.

"I wanted to talk with you about Draco," he began without preamble, directly getting to the heart of the matter.

Harry blinked and wondered what had happened now. "Has something else occurred? Has something changed with his situation?"

"No, but that's the problem." The Slytherin sighed, gesturing with his hand. "He's like a zombie. He just goes around in a daze with his eyes glazed over, not saying much of anything. He'd probably walk into walls if we didn't watch him so closely." Zabini ran his hand over his face. "Merlin's beard, he almost blew us all to smithereens in Potions class Thursday when he put in powdered dragon scales instead of the lilac, and that's his best subject. Draco shouldn't be making mistakes like that; he can't afford errors like that. Professor Snape is actually considering him for an apprenticeship after we graduate."

Harry titled his head at the last sentence, not having known that little tidbit. Neither had mentioned anything about it. But then, it was a private matter, not really related to their current plans. Or at least, it wouldn't be for a few years. If things even went on that long.

"If it hadn't been for Longbottom, we would all still be in the Hospital Wing." Zabini grimaced and started to rub at his temples. "Of course, you have to know about it. I know that you saw." He snorted. "I don't see you could have missed it since your table is right behind theirs. I still saw, and I sit across from them."

Harry nodded. "Yes, I saw, but there really isn't much we can do for him right now. At least not until after his custody hearing on Friday. We can't even have him talk to a Mind Healer without a guardian's consent."

Zabini stiffened slightly. "You think it will actually go that far? That Draco's that bad off?"

"Don't you?" Harry returned easily, evaluating. "I thought that was why you were here."

"Perhaps," he allowed after a moment, "but that wasn't really what I was trying to get at. I was actually wondering about his guardianship. I know McGonagall is actually the one working on it, but she refused to even speak with me when I asked." He tapped his fingers on his chin. "I just wanted to know if there'd been any progress."

Harry shook his head. "Not that I know of," he admitted. "And I take it that none of you has had any luck," he continued, referring to the Serpent House's own efforts on the matter.

Zabini shrugged. "We have been trying to find someone to take him in, one of our family members, but few are willing to risk their children or even themselves by doing it." He paused for a second and frowned deeply. "My own parents have refused; they don't want to chance it with two of my siblings still at home." He exhaled in a rush, eyes taking on a faraway look, but he quickly snapped back to himself. "Still," the Slytherin went on like nothing had happened, "we don't know how McGonagall is doing, and I really need to talk to her about it. But like I said, she won't talk to me." He tilted his head. "However, if you were to ask her, she might be willing."

Harry narrowed his eyes and clarified the statement, "So basically, you want me to ask Professor McGonagall to answer your questions. To work with you on this," he concluded.

The other wizard inclined his head further. "Yes."

"I can't promise anything," Harry replied slowly, thinking it over for a second, "but I'll see what I can do." He glanced at his watch, and noticing the time, he headed for the door. He was about to dissolve the spells on the room when he noticed that Zabini hadn't followed. "Is that all?" the Gryffindor prompted after a minute.

"No, just one more thing. It's about… well…" He hesitated and rubbed a hand over his face. "Look, I have a little sister here," Zabini put in, looking slightly tense. "I can't… what occurred on Halloween can't happen again. There was a bloody battle on school grounds for Salazar's sake."

"We're working on it; we're trying our best to prevent it," Harry responded, keeping his voice very neutral. "I know it's not much, but we're trying. It is all up to Voldemort, and what he feels is a legitimate target."

Zabini closed his eyes at the name but didn't flinch, which Harry internally applauded him for.

"I know," the Slytherin said, "and I understand. It's the best you can do, and with us turning against the Dark Lord, we've made Hogwarts an even bigger target." He opened his eyes again and looked at Harry directly. "We don't want to be Death Eaters, Potter, but there are others that we have to consider. Some of our families are not even involved, but they're in danger now due to the House their children ended up in."

"I understand, and I won't ask you to do more than you are willing. You each have your own people to look after. I just ask that you do what you can," the reborn Salazar replied. "Oh, and since we on the same side, you can at least call me Harry."

"Fine, Pot-Harry," Zabini corrected. "Thank you." He paused, fingers tapping his chin again. "I suppose you can call me Blaise."

A ghost of a smile tugged at Harry's lips. "Excellent, Blaise, and if that is all… I'll be going now."

The Slytherin nodded before reminding him, "Please, ask McGonagall for me."

"I will," Harry promised as he dissolved the Silencing charms.

Blaise inclined his head again but didn't say anything else. He walked with the Gryffindor down the corridor and then the stairs, lost in thought the entire time. When they reached the first floor, Harry was about to veer off and go into the Great Hall, but a sudden warning from Hogwarts stopped him in his tracks.

He glanced up to the top of the staircase, only to caught a glimpse of vivid, red hair. The person it belonged to was furiously stamping down to the Entrance Hall, angrily mumbling to herself. Her robes were in disarray, even as they whipped around her. She was the perfect picture of a madwoman, and Harry almost started when he realized who it was.

Ginny Weasley.

Beside him, Blaise was looking at her rather strangely, not that Harry could really blame him. Her face was red and blotchy but more from anger than anything else. Her fiery hair was billowing out behind her as she furiously stormed down the stairs, face tight with fury. She reached the bottom and was so focused on her own rage that she didn't even notice her friend standing there.

"Ginny," Harry said as he stepped out in front of her, causing her to stop short. "What's the matter?"

The redhead gazed up at him, recognition crossing her face even as her left eye twitched. "Dean." She stretched out the word, somehow making it sound like a curse, and she said it as though it was enough to explain every wrong that had ever been committed.

Harry could tell that they were entering dangerous territory, but he still had to ask. "What about Dean?"

"Oh, nothing important," she replied and shook her head. "Only that he is nothing more than a sanctimonious, two-timing git!" She snarled the words, but apparently, that wasn't enough. Ginny continued on her tirade, voice steadily rising. "He thinks that just because he helped protect the castle that he is suddenly the greatest thing since self-inking quills. Apparently, having hexes thrown at him makes it okay for any floozy to just throw herself at him without any consequences, while I'm expected to wait at his beckon and call."

Harry really didn't know what to say to that, and his own ire from earlier was completely forgotten as he quickly tried to cobble together a response. Blaise, who had been watching the exchange, of course chose that very moment to chime in.

"Well, he wasn't the only one there, so what gives him the right to cheat on you?" the Slytherin inquired loftily. "If I recall, you were taking down Death Eaters with the best of them. Shouldn't that give you the same privilege?"

"Yes! Thank you." Ginny gestured at the sixth-year. "See! Someone with actual sense. I thought the entire castle had gone mad, but there's at least one sane person left." Her eyes blazed again. "But why can't Dean be like you? Why has he completely gone off the deep end? Just because that tramp throws herself at him doesn't make alright. I don't have to put up with that, and I refuse to do it anymore."

Harry added, using a very soft voice in the hopes that it would calm her down, "I take it that you just broke up with him then."

"Yeah." Ginny sniffled suddenly, her face falling.

Instantly, Harry realized he had said the wrong thing, but it was too late.

"Yeah, I did, and I'm better off without him." Her eyes began to water, despite her brave words.

"Of course, you are," Blaise inserted, but he quickly quieted when Harry threw him a look.

Ginny blinked back moisture. "But then, why does it hurt so much?" she asked in a tiny voice.

A tear streaked down her face, and it was quickly followed by another. Soon, she was crying full out, breath coming in choked sobs. A startled Harry could only blink as she threw herself onto his shoulder. His hand unconsciously came up, patting her soothingly on the back as he slowly steered her over to an alcove and away from the gathering crowd. Blaise trailed behind him, not willing to leave yet.

"I had really thought he was R- er… the one." She stumbled over her word choice, suddenly aware of their audience. However, even that wasn't enough to deter her for long, and the tears started anew.

Thankfully, only Harry caught her blunder, though Blaise's eyes narrowed faintly. But she had almost mentioned the name of Amia Hawthorne's dead husband, the person she had assumed Dean to be. That meant that she was dangerously close to losing it completely, if she wasn't there already. All it took was one slip of the tongue, and they would be revealed for who they really were. Any advantage they currently had would be lost. He needed to get her out of here.

Harry glanced around, noticing the slowly growing group of people who had followed them over. Most had just departed the Great Hall from dinner, and seeing the angry redhead, they had stopped to find out what all the commotion was about. His eyes flickered to the side, seeing his companion from earlier still hovering about. He offered Blaise a pained smile and waved him on. The Slytherin hesitated for a moment before heading for the dungeons, disappearing from sight.

That left Harry on his own, standing the by the side of the Entrance Hall with an armful of a sobbing Ginny Weasley and a dozen curious onlookers. He exhaled very slowly and steered the two of them to yet another empty classroom, wondering along the way why it was that things like this always happened to him.

* * *

**_Unknown, The Dark Lord's Personal Library: The Same Day_**

Voldemort chuckled to himself as he gently removed a book from a drawer. It was bound in a deep blue, so dark that it was almost black, and silvery runes shivered in and out of existence as he shifted it in the candlelight. He laid it softly on his large and surprisingly plain desk, and he took a few steps back, inspecting it with a critical eye. However, even several feet away, he could feel the distinctive tingle of its enchantments. He could still see the magic flowing across its cover. His lips pulled into a true smile, a real one, not the mockery he often wore. It was something he hadn't done in over two decades.

His moment of scrutiny finished, Tom pulled out his wand and carefully, oh-so-carefully, began to murmur under his breath. His wand started to glow as he swished it in a complicated pattern. The runes on the cover shimmered into existence but didn't disappear again, remaining visible in a swirl of color. His wand burned brighter, and his voice rose into a crescendo. A breeze swept through the room, lifting the cover of the grimoire and fluttering its pages. Tom could barely contain his excitement as his voice died away, and he immediately reached down and picked it up again, opening it with bated breath. His eyes scanned over the first page, his excitement evident in the trembling of his hands.

With something that might have been a crow of triumph for anyone else, he closed it again, moving for the exit. He headed down the corridor outside, robes swirling around him, only hesitating long enough to strengthen the warding on the door. All that he passed dropped to their knees and bowed, but he didn't really seem to notice. He went down a flight of stairs and another hallway, finally entering his throne room. There was a cloaked man already inside, and he was kneeling with a white mask on the floor in front of him.

"Greetings, my little prince," the Dark Lord said and ascended the raised dais at the near wall. "And what do you have for me today." He lowered himself onto his throne and opened his book slowly, savoring the moment before he started flipping through.

If the other man was affected by the title or his master's actions, he didn't show it, merely narrowing his dark eyes. "The potions you requested, Sire," the Death Eater replied, risking at look. "They are all here and have been tested for strength and consistency."

Tom nodded but even glance up. "Any news of my fair Bellatrix, or is the old man still denying that he has her?" He turned a few more pages, pausing on one after a moment and studying it intently.

The Death Eater braced himself for the _Cruciatus_ curse. "No, my Lord."

Voldemort simply waved a hand of dismissal. "No matter than." He caressed the ancient but still pristine page, fingertip lingering on a drawing. "Just continue looking for her."

The other man blinked. "Y-yes, my Lord." He remained on the floor, making no move to leave until he was dismissed.

The Dark Lord remained silent, however, too enthralled with what he was doing. One finger traced over the sketch and ghosted over the design in the middle. He outlined one of the bird's wings and then the other, tracing each feather and every curve present.

"I see now," he whispered to himself, red eyes burning with satisfaction, "and I was so foolish to believe otherwise."

"Sire?" the Death Eater ventured, not knowing if his master was actually addressing him or not.

But the Dark Lord just ignored him. "To think, I had this the entire time," he went on and trailed his fingertips over the grimoire once more, almost like a lover's caress. "And I never even completely realized its true value. I knew it was invaluable in and of itself, but I never quite expected the contents to be worth this much."

His lips twitched, giving what on anyone else would have been a self-deprecating smile. On Voldemort though, it just made him look even more like a snake in a human-suit.

A smirk then settled on his face as he finally closed the book, spidery fingers tracing over the cover with something bordering on abject delight. Suddenly, Tom laughed, long and loud. And the sound chilled his servant to the bone. However, the Dark Lord took no notice, red eyes blazing. He simply laughed, the runes on the cover burning molten silver for a moment before fading away.

And from his spot on the floor, Severus Snape shuddered.

* * *

AN: I know that we haven't gotten to any action yet, but I have to flesh out the plot before we can really get anywhere. Further, things are definitely not all sunshine and daisies in Founder land right now.

Okay, just a warning. The Founders' scenes are going to jump around quite a bit. They won't really be in sequence like they were in the last story. They will jump from young Siobhan, to older Siobhan, to Tristan as a teenager, and back. Basically, they will go with the other scenes in their respective chapters and not in chronological order.

**Things to think about**: What is going on with Severus? Why is he acting so strangely? What is going to happen to poor Draco? What does Voldemort have, and why was he so excited? Will Luna and Dom ever make actual appearances?

_To everyone who read or reviewed_: Thank you so very much.

_Chapter Three: Darkest Dream_

* * *

Ever Hopeful,

_Azar_

**Updated and Edited:**

**06/27/08**


	4. Darkest Dream

**Disclaimer**: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work. I own nothing except Salazar's wife and son. This story is an AU of sixth year, but it will contain a few spoilers from _Half-Blood Prince_. However, it will still seriously diverge from canon. Also, this story is a sequel and will not make any sense without first reading _How to Tell the Truth from the Lies_.

* * *

"blah": dialogue

'blah': thoughts

**_"__blah"_** : Parseltongue

_"blah"_: Legilimency/Telepathy

_Italics_: excerpt from a book /newspaper or any other written form

**Bold**: a word or phrase that is emphasized

Underlined: a title of a book /newspaper (usually in italics as well)

**_Italics, Underlined, and Bold_**: location/date of a scene in the story

* * *

**Chapter Three: Darkest Dream**

**_Hogsmeade Wizarding Village, Home of Amia Hawthorne: Mid Winter, 957 A.D._**

She was running. Harder. Faster. Heart pounding in her chest. Her hair whipped around behind her, and the basket in her hand painfully thumped her thigh with each step. Her belly twisted painfully, knotting in on itself. Still, she ran.

She dashed through the woods, leafless trees whipping by her. Their tired and dreary branches snagged at her, pulling out her hair and tearing her clothing. Yet, she didn't really seem to notice. She simply ran, feet sliding through the muck, black clouds swirling overhead.

She tasted death in the air, felt murder itself closing in all around her, ghosting over her skin. She tried to shrug it off but couldn't quite manage it, even as she continued her mad flight. The gate was now in sight, but all she saw was destruction beyond. She knew it was too late. They were already lost, gone to where she couldn't follow.

And sixteen-year-old Siobhan Lovegood woke with a start.

Her blues eyes snapped open, darting around quickly, her breath coming in short pants. She sat up quickly… well, more like she all but flung herself into a sitting position, hands now clutching at her bedcovers. Her eyes flickered around again, as if searching for whatever had caused her terror.

But there was nothing, not anything. There was only her empty room, the sun just beginning to rise outside her window.

She sighed then, slumping down and resting her face in her hands. She briefly wondered why her mind had chosen today of all days to torture her. She shouldn't even be thinking of her clan's death; there had been no reminders of it recently. It had been years ago, years and years ago. Sure, she still had nightmares. Yet, they were few and far between, haunting her only infrequently.

But why had she just had one now?

Normally, she only had them on the anniversary or just before it, but that had been almost a month earlier. It just didn't make any sense, none at all.

Maybe it was a warning of things to come. She had heard of other residents in her village having similar heart wrenching sensations days before their home had been ransacked, but they had merely shaken the feelings off, not realizing them for what they were until far too late. Perhaps her heart was sending an omen, one she would be a fool to ignore.

Or maybe it was just Fate's way of getting back at her. It did have a tendency to play tricks on her, the incident with Edmund, three large owls, and a spooky night a testament to that fact. Siobhan was absolutely certain that she must have done something horrible in a past life. Why else would Fate toy with her so?

Siobhan paused, considering this for a moment before shaking her head and sighing. She slid out of bed a moment later and set about getting dressed. Afterwards, the teenager stepped into the kitchen, only to freeze just inside the doorway.

Edmund and his cheery wife, Helga, were seated with her mother at the table, sipping breakfast tea. It was an unexpected thing, especially considering the fact that the couple was now living in the half-finished castle a few miles a way. What's more, there were two strangers seated with them, a pair of men Siobhan had never seen before.

The both turned at her entrance, the closest one all but jumping to his feet. "Hello," the fair-haired man stated swiftly. "You must be Siobhan," he went on in an even livelier tone, completely forgetting to introduce himself. He grinned at her, showing a mouth full of very clean teeth. His eyes were very bright, all but riveted on the teenager, and Amia could practically hear his heart pounding in his chest from her spot across the table.

Siobhan seemed to notice his nervousness, if that was indeed what it was, as well. She inclined her head, remaining silent as she looked him over. However, she dismissed him instantly when her gaze landed on the second stranger, Godric totally forgotten. He was fairly tall with rich, dark hair and the most vibrant eyes she had ever seen, and he lifted an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk on his face as he rose to greet her.

"Salutations, fair lady," he said smoothly, offering her a little bow. He gracefully took her hand, placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles as he went on, "I am Salazar."

Siobhan simply smiled, blinking up at him. She didn't even realize that he had yet to release her hand, but she did seem to grasp something else entirely. She was going to marry this man.

There weren't any fireworks, no bells or whistles or sudden bursts of light. The sky didn't brighten; the earth didn't stop. No angels suddenly decided to sing. There was just knowledge, an understanding that this was the man she wanted to wed and that she wouldn't settle for anyone else. She just gazed at him for a moment, studying him before nodding her head and picking up the conversation as if nothing life-altering had just occurred.

And her adopted mother just watched from the side, seeing it all and knowing that she could mark another one down for the Hawthorne family curse… or would it be gift? Regardless, it seemed that even those not related to them by blood still fell under its jurisdiction. All it took was a single moment, a glance or a smile, and they would have their mate. Though sometimes, they wouldn't realize it for what it was until much later, but that didn't seem the case here.

Her youngest son and his wife had been exactly the same way, and if she knew her only daughter at all, she could go ahead and start planning a spring bonding ceremony. If she could even convince Siobhan to wait that long. Amia shuddered even remembering her past attempts to get the teenager to take pause when she already had her mind made up. Those situations had not been pretty, and they had been only minor things. The matron had a feeling that this time it would be a nightmare. Poor Salazar had no idea what he had just gotten himself into, and it would most likely fall on her to explain it.

That girl would be the death of her. Amia just knew it and probably her soon-to-be husband as well. Still, it would be more than worth it.

The Widow Hawthorne chuckled and shook her head at that thought, already beginning to plan it all out in her head. They could have the wedding in the glen at the edge of the woods. It was a holy place, blessed in centuries past by the old mages of the land. There were some lovely flowering trees nearby, and Siobhan had always been fond of the purple flowers that grew there.

In her mind's eye, Amia continued her silent planning, even as her physical gaze swept around the table. Her son and his wife were smiling smugly, obviously having caught what had just transpired. Helga already looked to be thinking along the same lines as her mother-in-law, while Edmund was just bemusedly sipping his tea. Both were doing their best not to look at Sal and Siobhan, lest they start laughing.

On the other hand, Godric was watching her daughter intently, but there was no smile and certainly no mirth present. Truthfully, there was an entirely unreadable expression on his normally animated face, one which made the Widow Hawthorne pause. His eyes narrowed shrewdly as he watched his bonded sibling and his new friend interact, seeing the way their gazes tended to remain on one another, hands lingering longer than was strictly necessary. There was something in Gryffindor's expression, something odd that flashed across his features, but it was gone in an instant. Still, it left a persistent jolt of concern in Amia.

The matron studied him for a moment but quickly shook off the feeling of worry that shot through her belly as she did so. She had to be imagining things. He was probably just looking out for his brother's best interest, not that she could really blame him with the besotted, albeit somewhat confused, glances Salazar was sending her daughter. It was something that caused her smile to widen and her heart to flutter in remembrance of her own younger days.

Siobhan had found her fate in his vivid green eyes, and it seemed that the reverse was also true. Yet, what Amia didn't know... what none of them knew was that the other set staring at the pair from across the table spelled her daughter's doom.

* * *

**_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Third Floor Study: November 13th, 1996_**

Remus Lupin was confused and rightly so. His golden eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, lips pulled into a distinctive frown as he waved his wand one more time. It glowed purple-white over the sheet of parchment before fading entirely, the paper not even seeming fazed. His eyes narrowed even further, now little more than slits, as he heaved an extremely exasperated sigh.

Scratch that.

Remus wasn't just confused; he was bewildered, perplexed. He was very, very suspicious. He had tried every spell he knew, twisted every incantation, and bent every single rule of magic he had ever learned, but he was still getting the same result. The map wasn't malfunctioning. In fact, it was working perfectly, just as well as it ever had.

But that meant…

Wait. What did that actually mean? He wasn't entirely certain.

All he knew was that the blasted thing had toggled from Harry Potter to Salazar Slytherin and back, but that didn't make any sense. And that wasn't all. It had also shown Rowena Ravenclaw in place of Minerva and Helga Hufflepuff for Molly. It was a conundrum of the highest order, and unless Harry and various Order members were channeling the spirits of the Founders, an event he found highly unlikely, something else was going on.

Remus just couldn't figure out what, and it would drive him batty until he did. Unfortunately for him, however, he could already feel his eyes crossing from tiredness, he had been at this for so long. Perhaps it was time to call it a night.

He exhaled and stood stiffly, his back creaking in objection to having been in the same position for so long. Remus rolled his head over his shoulders, working out the kinks in his neck as he did so. However, his stomach rumbled loudly then, obviously protesting the fact that he had skipped both breakfast and lunch and hadn't eaten nearly enough at dinner. Maybe he would get a little snack before bed.

Grinning sheepishly to himself, he rolled up the map and spelled away any evidence of what he had been doing, exiting a few moments later. He walked to the stairs and went down, moving with the silence that only werewolves, vampires, and other Dark creatures seemed to possess. This did nothing to alleviate the unnatural stillness that had descended on the house with so many Order members currently absent. Come to think of it and as far as he knew, Molly and he were the only ones around, everyone else either on a mission, guarding their prisoners, or at Hogwarts. Kreacher was safely tucked away in the basement, following Harry's strict order that he was to remain out of the way when not needed, a thing he had taken quite literally.

Now on the first floor, Remus approached the portrait of Mrs. Black, who was snoring heartily, half-hidden from view. She didn't even stir as he went by, not that it really mattered much now. Still, thank the Maker she no longer screamed when her curtains were open. At least, Harry's Parseltongue was good for something.

Shrugging to himself at the thought, the former professor approached the kitchen, his ears twitching at the sound of voices. The door was firmly shut, an unusual occurrence when there wasn't a meeting, so he couldn't see who it was. It took him a second to recognize their identities, and well, speak of the devil… as his Muggle associates would say. It was the dynamic duo themselves, Minerva and Molly.

However, their quiet tones caused him to pause several feet away from the door. He cocked his head to the side, filtering out the noises in the background and listening in.

"Is there anyone left in the house?" Minerva questioned very softly, and there was the groan of a chair as she sat down.

"Just Remus," Molly responded in kind, despite her words, "and he went to bed ages ago. Poor dear, he seemed so distracted at dinner and barely touched his plate."

Minerva sighed softly. "Perhaps he isn't as over Sirius' death as we thought."

There was a moment of silence, which the werewolf interrupted as meaning that the two were lost in thought. Yet, it soon ended as the Weasley matriarch spoke again.

"I understand why we can't tell the other members of the Order – the less people that know of this beforehand the better. But I still feel bad about hiding it from them. They are our allies, our friends. We should be able to trust them," the redhead inserted, and the werewolf heard the sound of a spoon tapping a teacup.

"Yes, we should, but we just can't take the risk. Are you willing to bet Draco's life on Mundungus or someone else not letting it slip?" Molly didn't answer with words, but the deputy headmistress clearly received some type of response because she continued, "Well, neither am I, and it's not like we aren't keeping other secrets anyway."

Outside, Remus raised a questioning eyebrow, now wondering what by Circe she was talking about. He ransacked his brain trying to make the connection, but he was drawing a complete blank. Nevertheless, the conversation soon drew back his attention.

"And it's not all just for Draco's sake alone," the professor confessed, shame in her voice. "Though I am loathe to even consider this… with what Draco knows of us, we can't leave him alone with Death Eaters for even a second. That's all they need to whisk him away, and while he's strong, even he can't resist Veritaserum or other less savory methods."

"So you really do plan to go through with it?" Molly queried in return, and Remus could hear the worry in her words. "You plan to kidnap him in front of dozens of witnesses if Andromeda doesn't win guardianship."

"Well, it's not really kidnapping if he goes with me willingly," Minerva retorted, but there wasn't really any venom to her voice. She drummed her fingers across the tabletop, a nervous habit of hers that Severus was determined to break. "Besides, he already knows what we have planned, and he agrees wholeheartedly. Of course, it is far better than the alternative."

The redhead was silent for a moment, her teacup clinking the only sound to be heard. "What if the Portkey doesn't work?" she finally inquired, obviously setting her drink down. "There will probably be wards."

"I have already worked it out for Fawkes to swoop in for our rescue if that happens." Minerva went on with an odd lilt to her voice, "It will cast suspicion on Albus, but he can simply deny everything. Phoenixes are sentient creatures fully capable of rational thought. They won't be able to hold him accountable."

"Perhaps," Molly allowed. "But perhaps not. Scrimgeour will at least try to lay responsibility on him, but the fact that the headmaster won't be present should work in his favor. He can't be blamed for the actions of his Companion if he isn't even there." She paused, obviously thinking. "Where do you plan to take Draco anyway? Surely not Hogwarts, even with all the secret rooms and passageways."

"Here, I have already got my bags packed and shrunk. They're in my pocket as we speak." Minerva said, "And I've instructed Dobby to be here for the day in case we need him to fetch Draco's trunk."

Molly exhaled slowly. "It's good that you are thinking ahead. With as many crazy things going on these days, we won't have to worry about that at least."

"True, my friend. That is very friend," the other woman commented. "And with that said, I best go and take my things upstairs. That was the entire reason I came tonight," Minerva put in very tiredly. There was a scrap of a chair as she rose.

Remus swiftly backed away from the kitchen, moving as quickly and quietly as he could. He all but ran up the stairs, thankful that they had already been repaired and no longer creaked. The werewolf was already to the second floor when he heard the door to the kitchen open, Minerva apparently lingering for several minutes. Regardless, he had a big enough lead to hurry to his room and silently shut the door before she even reached the bottom step. He darted to his bed, throwing back the covers and climbing inside, praying that Molly wouldn't check on him like he suspected she would.

A moment later, his door unfortunately opened, and a red head slowly peered inside. However, Remus was safely in bed, his back to Molly with the covers artfully twisted around him. Apparently satisfied with what she found, the Weasley matriarch soon exited, the door clicking shut behind her. The werewolf's keen eyes heard her step away and move down the corridor, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Still, despite his earlier tiredness, Remus stayed awake for a long time afterwards, mind replaying what he had overheard.

* * *

**_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, The Sorting Hat's Secret Room: The Same Day_**

Three months ago, if someone had suggested that Severus would be meeting Neville Longbottom after hours for anything other than detention, he would have promptly and rather sarcastically suggest that they go to Saint Mungo's for dose or two of Shock spells. Further, if anyone had stated that he would actually be seeking advice from Mr. Fumbles-and-Bumbles himself, Severus would have administered the treatment himself with a few other choice spells and potions added in. Of course, the Potions master would have gone on to laugh quite darkly to himself behind closed doors and in the safety of his own dungeon sanctuary.

Now, however, Severus was definitely not laughing nor was he smirking. He wasn't even amused. What he was… was desperate. Oh-so-very desperate.

"It was blue you say," Neville stated, eyes glazed over in consideration.

Severus nodded curtly. "Dark blue. Almost black with silver runes." He tapped his fingertips on the arm of his chair, but he stopped when he realized what he was doing, a scowl now plastered on his already perturbed face.

"And you didn't recognize any of them. None at all?" the Gryffindor prompted.

The other man sniffed. "I have studied Ancient Runes, though not nearly as extensively as some," he admitted with a hint of self-censure. "Still, I did not recognize any of them. Yet, they still seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps based on something else I have seen."

"Hm… so they're obviously not something taught at Hogwarts then. At least not now," the sixth-year allowed. He rubbed his hand over his chin, studying his companion before he spoke again. "Why haven't you gone to Harry with this?" the round-faced wizard asked, tilting his head and measuring the other man. "Sal did teach Runes, as you obviously already know."

If it was possible and apparently it was, the Potions master's glower deepened. "Mr. Potter and I are…" He paused, searching for the appropriate words. "We have had a difference of opinions as of late."

Neville snorted. "Meaning you aren't talking to each other. Again." He shook his head, rolling his eyes. "I have seen you in class, Professor. I watch the pair of you pretend that the other doesn't exist." He exhaled slowly. "Honestly, you two need to get over this. Whatever this is," he added, gesturing decisively.

Somehow, Severus bit back the urge to give an angry retort, needing his companion's support and not his ire. "Perhaps," he said neutrally, dark eyes flashing.

Neville just watched him, completely impassive. He sat that way for several moments, wondering if he was the only person in their group with any sense. Severus and Harry were obviously lacking. He didn't even want to touch on Ginny, Dom, or Draco. Hermione was beside herself with worry over her Slytherin sort-of brother, and Bill and Molly were right there with her. Arthur had his own concerns with Augustus Rookwood. Luna and Albus always were a bit bizarre, and they only seemed to be growing more so as time progressed. At least, Sybill seemed mostly fine, though it was certainly a sad day when he had to admit that his loopy Divination teacher was the closest thing to sane he could find. Hogwarts, the Hat, and Fawkes didn't really factor into his consideration, but even they were far more coherent than most these days.

An impatient cough from the Potions master drew Neville back to himself, and he blinked, finding the man standing by the door. Obviously, he was indicating his wish to leave but refused to do so without their discussion reaching some satisfactory conclusion.

However, that seemed to be beyond even Neville's excessive powers. "There isn't much I can really do with only a description, so you'll have to bring me a Pensieve memory." He paused, noting the slight narrowing of Severus' eyes. "Even then, I can't promise you anything, but I'll look into it. And if worst comes to worst, I'll ask Harry to help me."

Severus didn't say anything, clearly not very pleased with the solution. Regardless, he still inclined his head in acquiesce. He hesitated for a moment, waiting to see if anything else would be added. When the Gryffindor didn't say anything, the Potions master gave an abrupt nod in farewell before sweeping out of the room in his customary way. Neville just watched after him, shaking his head.

He didn't understand why everyone had to make things so damn difficult, especially Harry and Severus. The two of them together were enough to drive a sober man to drinking. For several weeks they were seemingly fine, and then, they magically deteriorated into ignoring one another except for scowls and scathing glares. From there, they went to speaking in monosyllables to each other, and then, it was back to silence and sneers. Truthfully, he wasn't sure which was worse.

Neville sighed then.

Children were always such contrary people.

* * *

**_Hogwarts, Defense Classroom: November 14th, 1996_**

The bell rang, and Dominic heaved a grateful sigh of relief, fighting the urge to rub his now pounding temples. His head gave another painful throb as the sound reverberated through the room, and he had to bite back a faint groan. Instantly, his students stopped their dueling drill, several of them leaning wearily on the nearby desks or walls, while the others tiredly turned to face him. Somehow, he managed a rather convincing smile, waving his class of fifth-years on, and they unceremoniously dove for their bags, limping for the exit before he decided to torture them even more. Most were gone in just over a minute. Two, however, lingered.

The first just scowled at him before turning on her heel and stomping off, her semi-loose red hair whirling out behind her like a cloak. She all but slammed the door shut after her, rattling the frame. The second watched mournfully, but then, she gave him a tentative grin and came up to his desk.

"I am fine, Luna," he responded to her unspoken question before she could even form it. Her too large blue eyes blinked up at him skeptically. "I am just a bit tired," he confessed slowly, sinking down to sit on the edge of his desk.

She snorted softly, clearly not believing his excuse. "You always say that, but I have yet to believe it." She sighed before going on. "You have been very 'tired' as of late, ever since Halloween," the Ravenclaw observed, tilting her head to one side and then the other. "And I can't help but think that something is on your mind."

Dom chuckled, but it was a mirthless sound. "You know me far too well," he responded, dodging her question entirely. "I truly am fine. I just have a few personal matters demanding my attention as of late."

Her eyes narrowed at this. She was about to speak again, but the door opened, another student sticking his head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor, but I had a question--" the third-year began, but he faltered when he realized that his teacher wasn't alone. "Oh, I'll come back later."

The Defense professor, however, waved him inside. "No, Luna was just leaving." The vampire's lips twitched as he watched the very unamused expression that flickered across her face.

Whatever Luna had been going to say just before was lost as her face instantly took on a decidedly dazed cast, and she turned away. "Yes, thanks, Professor. It was a fascinating lesson. Perhaps next time we can get to those pesky gnarls."

Dom actually had to bite back a genuine smile, in spite of the pounding in his head. "Perhaps, Luna. A good day to you."

She nodded dreamily and drifted away. "And to you," the fifth-year added as she swept out, shooting him an exasperated look behind the other student's back as she did.

The remaining pupil walked up to the vampire's desk at his beckoning, only to promptly ask him a question he had already explained to the boy's class three separate times. Still, Dom kept the Gryffindor for longer than strictly necessary, hoping that Luna had already given up waiting outside.

His luck must have taken a slightly better turn then since she was gone when the boy finally left. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that her next class was Potions, and Severus abhorred tardiness.

Dom couldn't help a small chuckle at the last part, regardless of how it made his head throb even harder for a moment. Truthfully, Severus loathed a number of things, almost everything really. However, there were a few notable exceptions, possibly including Harry. But then… maybe not.

With that thought, the vampire abruptly stilled.

And like all things in this blasted school… and the entire British magical community if Dom was being really honest, it always seemed to come back to Harry Potter.

Harry Potter.

Salazar Slytherin.

The same person. The same soul.

And that was the crux of Dominic's current problem. Or perhaps it was just the root. Maybe the cause, the fault was all his own.

He had done things… terrible things, unspeakable things, because of a mistake he had made over a millennium ago. It had been a horrible mistake; that was certainly true. He had condemned a man to oblivion, but the cost to fix it had been too high. Yet, he had been willing to do it. Even worse, he had actually done it.

Dom had sold his soul to save a soul. How very poetic in a morbid, Alastor Moody sort of way.

Still, that hadn't been the worst of what he had done, not by far, and it was slowly killing him. Not necessarily in a literal sense, but he still suffered. Honestly, though, he definitely deserved.

Ginny had called him a monster. And as Dom really thought about, remembered what he had done, what he had been willing to do, he finally understood something.

She was right.

* * *

AN: I know that Siobhan and Salazar's first meeting isn't very long or drawn out, but it isn't supposed to be. As I mention in HTTL, it was one of those things where you meet and that's all she wrote. You know they're the one for you.

Oh, just so you know, Severus was referring to the book Voldemort had in the last chapter.

**Things to think about**: Will Remus ever figure out what's going on? Does it even really matter? What exactly is Dom hiding, and what does it have to do with the plot?

_To everyone who __read or reviewed_: Thank you so very much.

_Chapter Four: __Year of the Dragon_

* * *

Ever Hopeful,

_Azar_

**Updated and Edited:**

**06/26/08**


	5. Year of the Dragon

**Disclaimer**: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work. I own nothing except Salazar's wife, son, and various other original characters. This story is an AU of sixth year, but it will contain a few spoilers from _Half-Blood Prince_ and _Deathly Hallows_. However, it will still seriously diverge from canon. Also, this story is a sequel and will not make any sense without first reading _How to Tell the Truth from the Lies_.

* * *

"blah": dialogue

'blah': thoughts

**_"blah"_** : Parseltongue

_"blah"_: Legilimency/Telepathy

_Italics_: excerpt from a book /newspaper or any other written form

**Bold**: a word or phrase that is emphasized

_**Italics, Underlined, and Bold**_: location/date of a scene in the story

**

* * *

Chapter Four: Year of the Dragon**

**_Ministry of Magic, Courtroom Ten: November 15th, 1996_**

Draco Malfoy was nervous. His fingers twitched, and he fought the urge to nervously tap them on his leg. Sweat beaded at his forehead, in spite of the inconspicuous Cooling charm McGonagall had cast on him earlier. He exhaled shakily before breathing in again, attempting to settle his churning stomach. However, it didn't really help all that much, actually making him feel queasier.

Perhaps nervous wasn't quite the word. Maybe bordering on hysteria was a more accurate description. And even the comforting hand his professor had on his elbow didn't do anything to calm him.

Of course, she couldn't really blame him for being anxious, especially not when his future was at stake, not when his whole fucking life hinged on what the blasted Ministry lackeys would decide. And he especially wasn't going to be calm when Rufus Scrimgeour himself, Minister and archenemies of Lucius Malfoy, was sitting less than twenty feet away from him.

How the man had ended up monitoring this session when it was so clearly out of his jurisdiction was beyond the Slytherin. At least, he wasn't officially in charge; that was the job of Children of Wizards Services, but Draco had no doubt that Scrimgeour would be pulling the strings. And it wasn't exactly like the man tolerated him or anything, not with the way his family was known supporters of Voldemort. If he could, the man would probably give the sixth-year over to the Death Eaters just for spite.

Unerringly, the Prefect's eyes flickered to the table on his left side, twitching as they landed on Maximus Parkinson and his wife. They were second cousins of Draco on his father's side, and like Lucius himself, both followed Lord Voldemort, though only Maximus was an inner circle member. Nevertheless, Peony was known among their group for her extreme cruelty, particularly to children, and Draco shuddered as he recalled some of the stories he had heard about the woman. She made what happened to the Longbottoms sound like something out of a children's book.

Regardless, despite their familial ties and coinciding loyalties, the Parkinsons were not known Death Eaters. They had never even been accused of it at all, unlike a number of others. This meant that their record was proverbially clean and that Professor McGonagall could not use their prospective ties to Voldemort as a means to exclude them from the proceedings. Further, unlike Andromeda, they did not have the stigma of disownment hanging over their heads. That wasn't even mentioning the fact that Draco had obviously met them before today or that their daughter was a Housemate of his.

All in all, the Parkinsons had a very good chance of winning guardianship of him, and Draco couldn't quite stem the spark of apprehension that shot through him at the thought. He bit his lip to keep in his nauseous groan. McGonagall's hand momentarily tightened on his arm, but he couldn't get any comfort from the gesture. Calm was currently not within his vocabulary, and not even years of pure-blood training from Lucius Malfoy himself could keep the sixth-year from fidgeting ever-so-slightly.

If only his birth parents could see him now. Narcissa would probably die of mortification alone. Lucius would certainly _Avada Kedavra_ himself before he would ever admit that Draco was his son.

Hm… one could always hope.

He snorted then, and his teacher shot him an appraising look. At the other adjacent table, Andromeda Tonks glanced at him, favoring her nephew with a tentative and gentle smile. Next to the lady, her Auror daughter gave him a thumbs up and a saucy wink, and her hair flashed from nondescript brown to green and silver in an obvious show of support. The third person at the table, Mr. Tonks, chuckled and ruffled her glowing locks. She faced him, shaking her finger at her father and tapping his nose with it. He just laughed again.

The Slytherin blinked at that, realizing that he didn't even know the man's name. However, his insight was lost when Andromeda casually flicked her daughter's ear with her index finger. The Auror whirled around, eyes filling with accusation, but her mother had adopted an expression of complete innocence, merely lifting an inquiring eyebrow. Tonks slowly turned toward, eye twitching faintly as her parents chuckled at her expense.

Nearby, Draco just watched, wondering how he could possibly be related to these people. They were nothing like his parents, and he didn't really know Bellatrix well enough to make an accurate assessment. Nevertheless, they were better than a slow death at the hands of the Death Eaters, but he wasn't sure if he could survive leaving with them.

At least, he and Hermione had things in common.

Of course, that only brought him back to the moment, and his belly roiled again as he remembered this morning. It was possibly the last time he would ever see his sister.

**(Flashback)**

Draco had barely stepped into McGonagall's quarters an hour before classes where to begin when a brown and black blur collided with him. He stumbled under the unexpected weight, falling back into the wall by the door and narrowly missing a bookshelf, even as a pair of arms wrapped around his neck. The poor Slytherin coughed, struggling to breathe.

"Hermione," he choked out, sputtering somewhat as he attempted to regain his footing. However, the Gryffindor, who was all but glued to him, was making that rather difficult. "Hermione… let…" he tried, but the words wouldn't quite come out.

Thankfully, someone else came to his rescue. "You need to loosen your grip there, Hermione. Unless you really are attempting to strangle Draco to death," Neville inserted, walking up to them. He gently but firmly pried his Housemate from her victim.

"Oh," she mumbled with embarrassment, finally relaxing but not completely letting go. Still, it was enough to allow him to suck in a much need gulp of air. "Sorry about that." Her face burned bright red.

"It's… fine," he breathed, inhaling again. He vainly attempted to free his arm, which she was now holding in place of his neck, but it was a pointless action. He wasn't going anywhere. For such a petite person, Hermione had a very strong grip, one that put most Grindylows to shame.

Instead, the blond had to settle for shooting Neville a pleading look and making him do the dirty work. Over his shoulder, Draco could see Bellatrix hovering near an opened doorway. She had probably heard him crash into the wall earlier and had come to see what all the commotion was about, thinking that perhaps someone was breaking in. This theory was only reinforced as he saw her wand being discreetly tucked back into the holster on her arm.

His aunt stepped further into the room, actually making it as far as the sofa, but she just observed them from there, completely unsure what to do. Her eyes flickered to her nephew then Neville, lingering there for several seconds before darting away.

The other male just laughed, not privy to what was going on behind him, prying Hermione off of his friend. He led her back over to the sofa, softly pushing her down and offering a nearby Bellatrix a soft but very genuine smile. She gave him a faint one in return, but her eyes deadened as he turned away. A moment later, her mask firmly back in place, she looked up again, gaze drifting to the three students present.

Draco could tell that she was curious as to why these two particular people were the ones here to see him before his hearing. Of course, this made sense, especially considering she wasn't yet privy to the Gate and the rest of that mess. However, Neville's appearance was distracting her from actually voicing her thoughts, and her nephew hated to think how awkward she must feel at the moment. He knew for a fact that she had been avoiding the Gryffindor, not that he blamed her given her past associations. Yet, if the glint in the round-faced wizard's eyes was anything to go by, Draco knew that situation wouldn't last much longer.

Shrugging to himself, the Slytherin moved over to a chair and plopped himself down, for once not really caring about his presentation as he put his elbow on the arm and rested his head on his fist. An obviously unhappy Hermione chose that moment to attempt to stand again, but the former Death Eater put a restraining hand on her arm. Hermione frowned but remained seated, crossing her arms over her chest. Bellatrix came forward then, giving her nephew a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder before beating a hasty retreat. Obviously, she didn't want to interfere in what could possibly be Draco's last moments with his friends. Or perhaps Neville's presence just made her that nervous.

Regardless, the trio lapsed into silence after she left, staring at each other. Hermione fidgeted, her hands twisting in her laps. Neville was blank-faced, but his eyes were full of worry, riveted on the other wizard. In turn, the blond exhaled slowly, trying to calm the twitter of nerves in his stomach, and glanced at the mantle clock. He only had two hours left until doomsday.

"So…" the bushy-haired Prefect began, but she faltered after the first word. "So…" she tried again.

Draco was very tempted to ask "So what?" but he didn't think that Hermione would respond very well to that. Instead, he settled for merely raising his eyebrow and gesturing with his free hand.

"So… do you think that Andromeda has a chance?" the male Gryffindor questioned instead. "I mean, does she really? I know that she was disowned by her parents, and that has to weigh against her."

The blond shrugged elegantly. "It probably will, and knowing my luck, it will be the twig that breaks the broomstick."

Hermione inserted, "But shouldn't your own opinion count for something. I mean, you're almost an adult, and you are clearly in favor of living with her."

"That's true, but I won't actually meet her until today," Draco put in with a frown. "I will have known her for all of an hour by the time of my hearing, and the Parkinsons have known me since I was an infant." He sighed then, running a hand over his face. "They will probably argue that I am only supporting Andromeda because the headmaster wants me there and since her husband is a Muggleborn and her daughter an Auror. They'll say that I'm trying to ingratiate myself Dumbledore under some misguided sense that he is the only one who can help me."

The female Gryffindor shook her head sadly. "Translation: You want in Professor Dumbledore's camp at any cost, and the Parkinsons will say that they can protect you without his help. That you don't have to sacrifice your freedom of choice to be safe."

The Slytherin nodded, but it was Neville that answered. "I imagine that it is something like that."

Hermione nibbled on her bottom lip. "So basically, Andromeda doesn't have a chance? The Parkinsons will refute every claim she can possibly make? So your only option is to Portkey away? Go on the run?"

The two wizards exchanged a look, but neither of them gave an answer. Truthfully, they didn't have one.

**(End of Flashback)**

Draco's reverie was interrupted by a loud bang, and he started automatically, hand flying for his wand. However, it stopped halfway as he realized that he wasn't in danger, at least not the eminent kind, and that the sound had merely been the side door to the courtroom opening and then promptly hitting the wall next to it. Apparently, his judges, jury, and probable executioners had just arrived.

The Prefect watched the three people enter with bated breath, idly noticing that McGonagall was doing the same thing next to him. The person in the forefront appeared middle-aged and was quite possibly the plainest witch in existence with a face so dull that Banshees looked good in comparison. She was flanked on either side by another a woman and a man, both of whom were also ranking members of their department, if the very telling pin on their collars was anything to go by. The second witch was practically a fossil, appearing to be older than even Dumbledore with her hunched over back and wispy, grey hair. She was surprisingly spry though, not even needing a cane, but she did have very thick glasses. The wizard was on the opposite end of the spectrum entirely, however. He was baby-faced with wide, innocent seeming eyes, and he didn't even look old enough to be out of Hogwarts, much less a member of the COWS board.

The trio marched up to the vacant seats at the front of the room, taking the chairs usually reserved for the Wizengamot head, direct second, and the Minister. However, the first two were noticeably absent, and the third was sitting with his entourage just behind his normal spot, in the seats meant for the other absent Wizengamot members.

The three newcomers took several moments to settle in, rifling through a stack of papers before finally introducing themselves, not that Draco remembered their names even a minute later. Though, truthfully, he really didn't care what they were called. One of them could have been Lord Grindelwald's extra concentrated ghost for all he minded as long as they didn't hand him over to the Parkinsons and, by proxy, Voldemort.

The clearing of a throat drew everyone's attention then as the center witch, Madam Dull-Face herself, began speaking.

"Well, hello, everyone. Welcome."

Draco bit back a groan. She sounded bubbly, and bubbly was one of the last things he needed right now. On his list of things to avoid, it came in slightly below death and torture, but only just above a re-Sort into Gryffindor.

"We're here today to decide who will be awarded guardianship of Mr. Draco Malfoy." She paused as she saw the Slytherin stiffen, her face taking on a sympathetic cast. "Now, remember, Draco, you're not in any sort of trouble. We are just trying to decide your future," she enthused brightly, cheer coming back into her voice. "You're not a prisoner, so there is no need to be so uptight," the idiotic woman chirped.

Uptight! His entire life was only banking on the outcome of this mockery of hearing. And if he was being really honest with himself, he already felt more like a prisoner than anything else. Draco couldn't help the pang of sympathy that shot through him at that realization. This is exactly what Harry must have felt like the year before when he had been on trial. While this was supposedly nothing more than a custody hearing, to Draco, it felt like the bloody Spanish Inquisition. Of course, the fact that it was in a trial courtroom didn't help matters.

Honestly, why would they would hold it here of all places was beyond him, though he supposed it had something to do with the high profile nature of his case. It wasn't every day that the son of two Death Eaters went up for grabs, and the fact that they had been forced to bar the room from all the people jostling to get in reflected the appeal that such a thing held for the wizarding public. On the other hand, perhaps this was just Scrimgeour's way of making him squirm. The man probably took sick pleasure in putting Draco in the same room that his mother had been sentenced to Azkaban in just days before. At least, they hadn't made him sit in that bloody chair, the one they made the accused always use, although the blond suspected that was more McGonagall's doing than anything else.

It would be too much of the Ministry to allow that courtesy on its own. Of course, the way Scrimgeour was all but glaring at him only served to underscore this point.

The Prefect fought the urge to sneer back, managing to maintain his neutral expression by the grace of the Maker alone. He settled down in his chair, sending a mock smile instead. The head of the COWS board beamed beatifically at him then, apparently deciding that he was taking her advice.

"Good then… on to business," she inserted, ruffling a few of the papers. "While we have had numerous parties apply for guardianship, we have determined that only two have a truly substantial claim."

Draco snorted to himself, earning a discreet look from McGonagall. Most of the applications had been from people hoping to get revenge against the Malfoy name. Lucius and Narcissa had made a number of enemies over the years, and few of those people were above taking out their frustrations on the son instead of the parents.

The ancient witch picked up the thread of the conversation, and the blond was pleased to note that she at least sounded calm. "Those two are, of course, Maximus and Peony Parkinson and Andromeda Tonks," she said, eyes flickering between the two tables before returning to Draco.

For some reason, warning bells started to go off in the blond's head, but he couldn't quite figure out why.

"Yet, before we can decide, each party must state their case," the youthful wizard stated, his voice a surprisingly deep tenor. "We have reviewed the evidence, but we wish to hear this from your prospective. We want to hear your reasons for doing this."

Dull-Face carried on, "Further, you must tell us why Draco would be better off in your care; what you can offer him in his time of need." Her use of his first name grated the Slytherin somewhat, but her next words made him completely forget about that. "Mr. Parkinson, if you would please."

"Madam Charmant, esteemed chairpersons," Maximus began, rising to his feet.

It took the blond a moment to realize just who he was addressing, but by then, the man had already continued.

"My wife and I might only be distant relatives of Draco, but we are family still. We simply wish for him to remain with family, **real** and **acknowledged** family," he emphasized, eyes flickering to the Tonks trio. "We have known Draco for a long time, and as such, we feel that he would be best placed with us – with people who actually know him and care for him, despite what his parents might have done."

The chairwitch, Charmant, tilted her head to the side. "You have known Draco since he was a toddler, but it is my understanding that you have had very little actually interaction with him for some time. Or at least, that is what you told Aurors when they were investigating the elder Malfoys' crimes," she said, bubbly voice turning shrewd for an instant.

Parkinson stiffened. "That is true," he acknowledged, remembering how he and his wife had been forced to distance themselves, lest they also fall under suspicion. "We simply wish to renew our acquaintance, but even the years between our last time with him haven't severed our ties."

Charmant nodded slightly.

Her young colleague questioned, "And what of your daughter? What does she think about all of this?"

Parkinson eased. "Pansy is ecstatic at the prospect. She is a close friend of Draco; they are actually Housemates in the same year at Hogwarts."

The ancient witch asked, "What of You-Know-Who and his followers? Mr. Malfoy is certainly a target due to his actions the most recent Halloween."

The Death Eater considered carefully, crafting his response. "We hold a number of properties, all of them heavily warded, some even in other countries. My wife and I have already discussed this and have decided that Draco would certainly be safer there."

"So he wouldn't be going back to Hogwarts? You plan to go into hiding with him?" the young man inquired, leaning back in his seat. "Further, for that matter, what do you plan to do for his future? The Malfoy family has numerous interests in multiple companies, among other things."

The other two chairpeople cocked their heads to the side, obviously interested in his answer. Behind them, the Minister mimicked their actions, a very peculiar look on his face.

"To the first question," Parkinson responded smoothly, "the answer is no. Hogwarts is not safe; a fact that is clearly highlighted by its recent attack." He paused for a second, something nameless flashing across his face. "As to the second, yes, we do plan to go into hiding. It is most definitely for the best. My wife and I feel that it isn't safe for Draco to remain here any longer. He would be best protected elsewhere among people with a real interest in his welfare." His gaze strayed to Andromeda momentarily before darting back to the front of the room, and a nastily gleam appeared in his eyes. "His future is his own to choose when he reaches his majority. If he so desires, he will be free to claim his inheritance. My wife and I certainly have no need of the money ourselves."

The trio nodded to themselves, exchanging the briefest of glances. Their faces were all but unreadable. Still, there was a faint hint of approval. Scrimgeour settled back in his seat, a slightly smug expression on his face. Draco frowned, not liking how this was turning out at all. Beside him, McGonagall remained blank-faced, though it was obvious to him that she felt much the same. However, hope was not lost. Andromeda still had her say.

"That will be all, Mr. Parkinson. We thank you for your time," Madam Charmant said a moment later, a grin plastered on her boring face. "Master Healer Tonks, do you have anything to say?"

Andromeda rose, nodding regally. "Yes, I do." She hesitated momentarily before getting straight to the point. "While circumstances have prevented me from spending time with my nephew, I would like to get to know him better, and I would like to think that he desires the same." She hesitated for a moment, but she was cut off before she could continue again.

"So you acknowledge that you had never actually met your nephew before today?" the ancient woman inquired with a raised brow, peering at them through her thick spectacles.

"And what of your banishment from the Black family? Doesn't that mean Mr. Malfoy isn't legally your nephew… or related to you at all for that matter?" There was something bizarre to her tone, something malicious and spiteful.

Andromeda frowned before quickly schooling her features. Both her husband and daughter traded a look behind her back.

"Yes, I have been disowned, but the current heir has made it apparent that he will reinstate my daughter and I as soon as he reaches his majority. As for Draco… he is family no matter what the law says. Family is more than blood or a slip of paper."

The only man of the three clasped his fingers together. "I see," he commented. "What of the dangers Mr. Malfoy faces?" he queried, voice mostly neutral. "Have you planned for that as well?"

"I am aware of them, and who better to protect my nephew than a trained Auror," she replied, gesturing to her only child. "My husband and I are both quite skilled at Defense ourselves, and we have already come to an arrangement with a close friend. He has welcomed us to his home for as long as we want. It is thoroughly warded."

The eldest woman peered down her nose at Andromeda. "What of the suggestion that this is merely a ploy to have access to the Malfoy fortune?" she asked with a hint of censure. "Or the idea that you are acting based on outside pressures and interests? Several people have suggested that you are under orders to obtain guardianship of Draco, to keep him contained at any cost."

In the background, both other members of her family leaned forward. The daughter sniffed disdainfully, a dangerous cast to her face, while her father placed his flattened hands on the tabletop. Andromeda, however, raised her head, face a neutral mask.

"While my family may not be wealthy, we are comfortable. We don't want his money. We only want him. Just because we are not rich, does not mean we are thieves," the Healer responded coolly, her blue-purple eyes flashing. "We are only acting for my nephew's best interests, and if anyone claims differently, I suggest that they that make those accusations to me personally so that I can refute them." She studied the trio for a moment. "Further, my husband is Muggleborn, so I highly doubt that you have to worry about us being Death Eaters."

"Perhaps it is not You-Know-Who that we are worried about," the ancient woman replied testily, and she gave a dismissive wave before Andromeda could even think to respond. "That will be all, Mrs. Tonks."

Andromeda noticeably frowned but did as she was bid, albeit a bit unhappily. She sat, her husband and daughter each taking one of her hands. Mr. Tonks other hand lifted, his fingers surreptitiously smoothing the ends of his wife's dark hair.

"Well," Charmant inserted, still managing to sound cheerful, "now that we have heard from both parties, my colleagues and I will take a few moments to reach a decision."

The chairwitch cast a quick Silencing ward around them then as they began to talk amongst themselves. The Minister leaned back in his chair, observing them with interest as he talked with one of his underlings in a quiet voice. The Parkinsons merely looked at each other for an instant before adopting very neutral faces. Andromeda sighed, momentarily lowering her head. Her husband and daughter gently moved their hands to her shoulders, just content to hold on.

Draco sucked in a breath, visibly vibrating with tension. His stomach coiled in on itself, and his heart felt like a knotted mess. His head was pounding so hard that his vision was blurring. He shut his eyes tightly, and it was all he could do not to keel over in a dead faint.

Meanwhile, McGonagall's eyes narrowed shrewdly as the three conversed, seeing that they had completely avoided asking Draco's opinion on the matter. They hadn't at all questioned who he wanted as a guardian, something that was undoubtedly against department procedure given the blond's age.

The professor was about to open her mouth to object to this oversight, when a warmth burned at her collarbone. Her phoenix pinion flared to life in that instant, and Minerva was hit by a sudden premonition.

They weren't going to win. The Parkinsons were going to get custody. Even if Draco endorsed Andromeda, they would still lose. She was going to have to take Draco and run… and promptly destroy both of their lives in the process.

Her ruin was self-explanatory; after all, kidnapping was a felony, punishable by a lengthy stay in Azkaban. Yet, Draco's was a little harder to pin point exactly.

Sure, he would live, but what kind of life would it be? He would be restricted to headquarters, not allowed to leave until his birthday in the summer and probably not even then. Further, he wouldn't be able to return to Hogwarts for his seventh year since the Board of Directors would most definitely never allow him in again with such an unaccountable gap in his life, one that the Slytherin could never explain to their satisfaction.

And that wasn't even considering the fact that the Ministry would probably arrest him on sight, even though he would have been the one kidnapped and not the other way around. They would do it under the belief that his departure was an admission of his guilt and involvement with the Death Eaters or the equally illegal Order of the Phoenix. While he could always live under a disguise, that was just another type of prison. He would be unable to be himself, denied his birthright and everything else that went along with being Draco Malfoy.

If she took him and fled, he would only end up another Sirius: a prisoner in every fathomable way, free in name only. But if she didn't, he wouldn't survive the rest of the day. Well, perhaps he would, but he would certainly wish that he hadn't.

Quintessentially, Minerva McGonagall was damned if she did, and he was damned if she didn't. They didn't have any other choice. At least this way, fleeing like a common criminal, Draco would live. It probably wouldn't be a very good life, but he would still live.

But just as her hand slipped into her pocket, reaching for the Portkey, she hesitated, tensing slightly. In that moment, her phoenix pinion burning, Minerva was suddenly hit by a bizarre and completely idiotic idea, one so foolish that it might actually work. She blinked stupidly, head snapping up. In one motion, she pushed her chair back and stood, startling the chairwitch rather badly and causing her to drop the Silencing ward.

"If I may, Madam, I do believe that we have ignored a third option," the teacher put in smoothly. "And I have been remiss to not notice it before."

The cheery witch raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be, Professor McGonagall?"

The other woman smiled ever-so-slightly. "Draco need not be placed at all really. He can simply remain at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts cannot have wards," Scrimgeour inserted testily before anyone else could think to respond. "It's written in the bylaws." He smirked back at her, an extremely confident expression on his face.

Minerva sniffed, staring down her nose at her former student. "While that may be true, there is no law that forbids professors from taking wards."

The Minister sat up in his chair, head lifting. "And who would you suggest? Severus Snape? Albus Dumbledore?" He sneered faintly. "Both have put forth no claim to him. In fact, Mr. Snape was actually approached for guardianship due to his capacity as Head of Slytherin House, and he turned it down completely. As for Dumbledore… well, he's an old man. There's no telling how much longer he'll be with us," Scrimgeour concluded, crossing his arms over his chest, obviously thinking the matter settled.

Minerva just smirked in return with a very Snape-esque expression, giving off the feeling of someone about to drop a bombshell. "I would suggest myself."

The room quieted completely. The Parkinsons started, their eyes very wide, while Andromeda merely blinked in shock. The Minister looked like he had been hit by a _Confundus_ curse, and one of his lackeys actually had his mouth hanging open in surprise. Madam Charmant, on the other hand, seemed momentarily shocked before giving McGonagall a very appraising glance. Her colleagues echoed her expression.

In the background, Draco could faintly hear the sound of the youngest Tonks' laughter, but he was too caught up in staring at his Transfiguration professor to really notice. He just gaped at her, completely dumbfounded. When she had stood, he had merely expected it to be some sort of delaying tactic, especially since he was certain that the Parkinsons were going to win. But with the way that Minerva had laid out her opinion… well, she sounded bloody serious. She sounded completely and totally serious!

However, before the Slytherin could even think to form a response to her words, the chairwitch cut in.

"That is quite the suggestion, Professor," Madam Charmant stated with a dazed voice. "Do you have anything to back it up?"

"Of course," Minerva replied, eyes glinting strangely. "First of all, you can be assured that I will always have his best interest at heart. I am well enough off in my own right to never need his money, and my students can assure you that I am fair and have always looked out for them. Second, I have been a Head of House for over thirty years. I know how children think; I understand their need for both discipline and freedom. To that, I have taught Mr. Malfoy for six years, and I have personally seen to his care over the last few weeks. I believe it is safe to say we are well acquainted."

Dull-Face actually chuckled at this, and the knot of tension around Draco's heart began to ease ever-so-slightly.

"Go on." Charmant gestured with her hand.

"Third, while the Death Eaters managed to get on the grounds of the school, they never actually entered the castle, and the wards are being strengthened as we speak. Hogwarts is definitely safe… safer than any private estate could ever hope to be, even if it is unplottable," Minerva commented with a hint of pride in her tone, verbally taking a swipe at the Parkinsons. "Mr. Malfoy would be surrounded by several Masters at Hogwarts, myself included, not to mention the only man Lord Voldemort ever feared." She purposely used the name, casually surveying the room as a shudder of fear rippled through it. She looked very much like a lioness then or perhaps a bird of prey as she waited several moments for everyone to quiet down.

"Finally and forgive me for saying this," Minerva concluded, going in for the kill, "but out of all those present, I do believe that I am the one most likely to be chosen by Mr. Malfoy. Probably by virtue of having actively supported him both today and recently, if nothing else."

The chairwitch rubbed her hand over her face in consideration. "Is this true, Draco?"

The blond started, having been put on the spot. Truthfully, he was struggling to keep up, his mind still stumbling over McGonagall's crazed suggestion. He blinked, gazing up at the woman, who was obviously waiting for a reply, and he settled for merely nodding curtly, not actually knowing what to say or how to even form the words.

"Hm…" Charmant put in noncommittally, and she gestured to her colleagues. "We will consider your proposal, Professor." Once more, she cast her Silencing ward, and the three leaned into to converse among themselves.

Minerva reclaimed her seat, settling down gracefully. A second later, her hand found Draco's underneath the table, giving it a fierce squeeze. His eyes flicked to her, an unspoken question written in their silvery depths, and she smiled gently at him, her face softening entirely.

She really was serious about this. It wasn't just a tactic, a scheme. She meant it in earnest.

Just like a switch had been flicked, his belly calmed completely. His pounding head cleared, and he breathed easier than he had in weeks. His pinion heated beneath his robe, warming him entirely and chasing away the seemingly perpetual chill that had settled in his bones as of late.

He gazed up at the three board members, watching them discuss his future like he wasn't even there at all. However, the ward dissolved only a moment later, and they turned back to face him. The ancient witch was conspicuously scowling, her eyes narrowed into slits. The only man was smirking faintly, fingers drumming on the table in front of him. Dull-Face was beaming, her hands twittering about with excitement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, after some discussion, we have managed to reach a decision," she enthused brightly, and everyone in the room perked up. "While it is important to be protected, children also need freedom. They need room to be themselves and to grow, but they also need to have discipline. Most importantly, they need to be with an adult they can trust, someone that they know and are comfortable with." A stab of worry shot through Draco then, but he managed to stifle, just as the chairwitch went on. "Therefore, we hereby award guardianship to…"

The Slytherin inhaled slowly, stiffening faintly. His stomach was settled now, no longer churning and twisting in on itself, and he looked at the three with resolve and determination. His professor gave his hand another fierce squeeze, and he finally squeezed back.

"Minerva McGonagall."

_

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Charmant_: Charming (French)

AN: If anyone can think of a better name for the Children of Wizards Services, let me know. I couldn't think of one that would have a cooler abbreviation, like OWLs and NEWTs. Also, I know that this is a very Draco-centric chapter, but that can't be helped. A lot of what goes on in the background will come into play later on. Yes, Andromeda might have a few cameos. No, she will not become a main character. The Tonks I plan to focus on is little Nymphie.

Also, Mastery in a field is a very high accomplishment, and not everyone can do it. Basically, it means that someone has substantial knowledge and skill in a particular field. This is not to be confused with a degree from a university in a subject. They are two entirely different things. A degree means someone studied in the field; a Mastery means exactly what its name suggests. To that, Hogwarts boasts a number of Masters, including Severus, Minerva, Albus, Dom, Flitwick, Sprout, etc.

**Things to think about**: When are Neville and Bellatrix finally going to talk? How will Minerva as Draco's guardian work out?

_To everyone who __read or reviewed_: Thank you so very much.

_Chapter F__ive: Shades of Light_

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Ever Hopeful,

_Azar_

**Updated and Edited:**

**06/26/08**


	6. Shades of Light

**Disclaimer**: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work. I own nothing except Salazar's wife, son, and various other original characters. This story is an AU of sixth year, but it will contain a few spoilers from _Half-Blood Prince_ and _Deathly Hallows_. However, it will still seriously diverge from canon. Also, this story is a sequel and will not make any sense without first reading _How to Tell the Truth from the Lies_.

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"blah": dialogue

'blah': thoughts

**_"__blah"_** : Parseltongue

_"blah"_: Legilimency/Telepathy

_Italics_: excerpt from a book /newspaper or any other written form

**Bold**: a word or phrase that is emphasized

**_Italics, Underlined, and Bold_**: location/date of a scene in the story

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**Chapter Five: Shades of Light**

**_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Slytherin Dorms: November 15th, 1996_**

"McGonagall," Blaise Zabini repeated incredulously, blinking several times.

"As in the Gryffindor Head of House," Millicent Bulstrode went on, shaking her head.

"The deputy headmistress," Dimitri Dolohov said weakly. His eyes were dilated, making the seventh-year look rather peculiar in the dim light.

"Yes," Draco replied simply, trying not to laugh at their reactions. "But she actually told me to call her Minerva with us being the best of friends now." He bit his lips, keeping in a chuckle.

Honestly, it was rather funny. They were all taking this horribly, making it seemed like the end of the world was surely at hand. In their minds, it probably was, though his Transfiguration professor was still better than the alternative, but he could tell that they were all hoping that Andromeda would receive custody of him. At least, she had been a Slytherin, though her husband was a Ravenclaw and her daughter a Hufflepuff. All she needed now was another child, one Sorted in Gryffindor. Then, they could have a complete set.

"But McGonagall!" Dimitri stated loudly, interrupting the blond Prefect's thoughts and causing him to roll his eyes. The seventh-year was starting to remind him of a broken record.

Blaise snorted, sounding more like himself. "Yes, Dolohov. I believe we've gotten the point by now. Draco's new guardian is none other than Minerva McGonagall." He paused, considering the situation. "She's actually not that bad. After all, she did give us five hundred points for protecting the school on Halloween. She didn't do that for any of the other Houses."

The blond smirked, clearly remembering. Minerva had given the points to the House as a whole and Draco himself for "having the balls to think for themselves," and he couldn't agree with her sentiment more. It was past time that the Slytherins take charge of their own lives and make their own way, not following the paths their families had set for them. They sure as Circe weren't going to follow Voldemort, no matter what their parents wanted. Draco alone had proved that.

"That's true," Pansy inserted, flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder. "And she's definitely better than my parents." The witch grimaced at the thought.

"What are you going to do about them, Pansy?" Blaise questioned softly. "I mean, this is a lousy birthday present, receiving a summons from them that demands you return home."

She just shrugged. "I don't plan on doing much of anything. They can't force me to do anything now. I am of age, in case they've forgotten." Pansy tapped her finger on her leg. "And good timing on Draco's part. A day earlier, they could have forced me home, but they can't now."

The others looked at her sadly then, knowing that this had to bother her more than she let on. After all, it had to hurt that her own parents were willing to sacrifice her happiness, her future, and possibly even her life to appease their insane master.

She waved them off. "Don't worry about it," Pansy stated loftily. "Even if they disown me, I'm covered." When no one looked convinced by her declaration, she explained, "I've been quietly draining money from family accounts into a personal one since they first gave me access. I have a very nice nest egg saved up. That isn't even mentioning how my cousins have been doing the same."

"How did you manage to do that without them noticing?" Milli asked, insanely curious.

While her parents weren't supporters of the Dark Lord, she had several friends that weren't so lucky. They might be able to do something similar, allowing them an escape.

Pansy laughed. "That would be telling," she sing-songed, sobering a moment later. "I know what you're thinking, Milli, but I wouldn't recommend it. What I did was very…" She shook her head. "Let's just say that the Ministry would have a field day if they found out. Besides, I doubt that it would work for anyone else. I used a loophole in the bylaws of my family's accounts, and with the way my parents have treated their accountant, the Goblins were more than willing to look the other way for me."

Everyone was quiet for a moment, contemplating what she had said. Milli patted her friend's hand comfortingly, Blaise watching them with a neutral face. Draco sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, and Dimitri cocked his head to the side, thinking about something.

The silence continued to stretch, only to be broken a moment later.

Dolohov made a strange face and stated, "But still… McGonagall?"

Draco's nostrils flared, and the older boy was forced to duck the Bat-Bogey hex that flew his way.

* * *

**_Hogwarts, Minerva's Rooms: November 16th, 1996 (Evening)_**

Bellatrix Black clutched at her forearm, gritting her teeth in pain. The blackened tattoo on her flesh burned and hissed, practically sizzling through her arm. She could already smell it crackling, flakes of skin sloughing off in her fingers. She clenched her teeth tighter, trying her best not to fall out of her chair as she jerked at another wave of agony.

The Dark Lord was not happy. Most definitely not. The Mark only burned this way when he was raging, never when he was summoning them. Besides, he had already done the latter hours ago.

That was the reason McGonagall wasn't here with her, not offering her the wonderful tea that older woman had. It always made her feel better, settling her stomach on the mornings that pregnancy didn't agree with her, but the professor was gone now, having Flooed to Dumbledore's office after Bella had told her about the summons. Undoubtedly, she was with the Order now, cleaning up after a battle with the Death Eaters.

And Voldemort… well, he was in one of his moods again, most likely flinging out magic for all he was worth, his followers bearing the brunt of it. Truthfully, though, he was probably only cursing those who had directly failed him. Everyone else simply had to suffer through the burn of the Dark Mark.

Yet, in all honesty, there was nothing simple about it. The blasted thing didn't just sizzle. It scorched. It blazed. It incinerated. And wherever they were, the other Death Eaters had to be cursing her right about now because she wasn't there to calm their Lord like she usually did.

Bellatrix grimaced at that thought, even as her tattoo flamed again, remembering exactly what she normally did in this type of situation. He was not a gentle man at the best of times and certainly not when he was like this. She still had the scars to prove it.

The fire in her skin spread underneath her fingertips then, blazing its way through the rest of her arm, and the pain drove away all cognizant thought for a few moments before thankfully ebbing. Unfortunately, it left a distinctive throb, causing her limb to ache all the way to the bone.

'Merlin,' she thought, flexing her elbow. 'Even that hurts.'

And Maker did she ever wish for a Numbing draught right about now. But no potion in the world could really help her. Nothing worked on the Dark Mark, the brand of her enslavement, of her own foolishness. Nothing could make the pain stop. Nothing could remove it, just as nothing could ever eliminated the blight on her soul.

Both were there forever.

Just then, the flame rose up again, burning even fiercer than it had before. Her skin started to boil, steam actually rising from it. She bit her lip, drawing blood as she fought the shriek building in her throat, her Dark Mark conveying her Lord's fury and his _Cruciatus_ curses. Nevertheless, she couldn't quite hold in a faint whimper as the pain intensified ten-fold, and she leaned heavily on the side of her high-backed chair, trying not to trash about.

In the background, she heard the door swing open, but she was too caught up to notice who it was. Perhaps McGonagall was finally returning. Maybe the Aurors had come to haul her back to Azkaban.

Right now, as her flesh bubbled and boiled from the sheer heat of her Mark, she really didn't care either way.

Bella burrowed herself further into the side of her chair, in part to anchor herself in reality, while also steadying herself with her back since she didn't have any free hands at the moment. Still, with all her movement, she was dangerously close to crashing to the floor, and the edge loomed closer before she even realized what was happening.

Instantly, a pair of hands caught her shoulders, holding her and preventing her fall. They softly deposited her back in her chair, squeezing tightly and keeping her mind focused. The hands were too large to be Minerva's, too large to be any woman's actually. It could possibly be Harry or maybe even Dumbledore, but Bella really didn't have much time to think about it as another wave of agony shot through her arm.

For a moment, her world narrowed to the pain in her limb and the hands on her shoulders, but it widened again once her Mark gave one final pulse and then blessedly stopped. It still ached fiercely, but Bellatrix knew that the worst was definitely over. She breathed easier and opened her eyes, which she didn't even remember closing.

However, it wasn't Harry standing in front of her, and the witch started as she stared upwards.

"Hello, Bellatrix," Neville said, gently helping her sit up. She moved to pull back afterwards, but he caught her left arm, studying her burnt flesh.

She wanted to ask him why he was there, but she couldn't quite form the words as his fingers ghosted over the far edges of her burns. Bellatrix winced as they came closer to her Dark Mark, but he thankfully backed off.

"Our Potions master is in quite a state right now," Neville responded without prompting, "although he will deny it until his dying day. Both the headmaster and Professor McGonagall are with him now. She was worried about you as well and sent me to see if you were alright."

She dodged his unspoken question. "And Harry?" the woman asked instead.

Neville apparently decided to humor her. "His Occlumency shielded him from most of it, and he doesn't have a Dark Mark to be tortured through," Neville informed her, turning over her arm and inspecting the damage on the other side. He saw a faint outline of a skull and serpent, the magical fire having sizzled all the way through. "He's with Professor Boyd, but I am not sure he's very happy about that." He gently ran his finger over her skin, hearing her hiss in response, and he frowned, thinking over his options. Fawkes would probably have to heal this eventually, but for now, a quick Healing spell would do.

Bellatrix recovered after a moment and titled her head slightly as she considered his words. "May I ask why?"

The Gryffindor sighed faintly, waving his wand over her arm. "They had a bit of a disagreement a few days ago and still haven't quite gotten over it," he replied, carefully examining his handiwork. Her arm almost looked as good as new, though her skin was still reddened and delicate.

"I see," she replied, casually wondering what it had been about. "Thank you," Bellatrix added softly.

He nodded and remained silent, just observing her for another minute before stepping away and taking the chair beside her. Yet, even after he sat, he didn't speak again. His eyes were still trained on her.

"Well, I suspect that you have other things to do. There is no need to stay on my account," Bella inserted, fighting the sudden urge to fidget under his scrutiny.

"Actually, I don't have anywhere else to be just now," Neville replied, steepling his fingers together. "Although… there is something I have been putting off for some time now." He studied her for a moment, seeing her face adopt its neutralist mask.

The Gryffindor leaned back in his chair, summoning Minerva's teapot and cups, mutely watching as his companion tried to puzzle out what he meant. He conjured hot water for them and pulled out teabags from an inner robe pocket. They were his special blend, grown in his own garden, and the tea had a very soothing effect, not to mention that it had the benefit of settling stomachs. He knew for a fact that his Transfiguration professor had been making sure that Bellatrix drank it regularly, especially with the morning sickness she had had the last few weeks.

He glanced up then, noting the odd look in his companion's eyes. She was confused, very much so, subtly staring at him as he poured their tea. However, he took pity on her then, choosing to explain.

Neville handed her a cup, watching the blue flowers dance around the edge. "I do believe that we need to have a little chat, Bellatrix." She took it from him and was in the process of bringing it to her mouth when he spoke again. "About that night… and what happened to my parents."

The cup slipped from her suddenly nerveless hand and dropped to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.

* * *

**_Hogwarts, Third Floor Corridor: That Night_**

Sybill Trelawney limped. Oh, she tried not to, attempted to walk normally as she passed by a mixed group of two Slytherins and a Hufflepuff, but she could tell that her efforts had failed as soon as she saw their eyes following her around a corner. Already the students had to be speculating why their batty Divination professor was all but hobbling along. However, there wasn't really much she could do about it now.

Well, she could always modify their memories, but Albus hated it when she did that to the students, though he hadn't minded when she had _Oblivated_ Umbridge the year before. Serves the toad right for barging in on the middle of a private meeting, and no one could really blame Sybill for enjoying a little comeuppance against the nasty woman. After all, none of the other Order members were forced into such a belittling role as hers, having to muck about like some frazzled half-wit. Besides, the entire thing had put her off cooking sherry permanently.

'Still, it does serve a purpose,' Sybill thought as she hopped up the stairs, pausing to catch her breath. 'Everyone's too lost on the Seer stereotype to see what's beneath the mask.' She snorted then, Hogwarts redirecting the staircase to make her journey easier. 'Bah. They don't even realize that there is a mask.'

She quietly thanked the castle before limping on, wondering for the thousandth time why she had told Minerva that she didn't want a shortcut to her rooms created. It certainly would have made the journey a lot easier. But then, there was always the chance that Patil and Brown would discover it, thereby stalking her even more than they already did. That thought alone was enough to make her shudder and stop complaining as she hobbled down the next corridor.

Those two would be the death of her. She just knew it.

The tired professor limped along for another ten minutes, only pausing as Hogwarts again rerouted the stairways. At least she only had two more floors to go, but by the looks of things, Sybill wasn't sure if she'd actually make it. The Numbing charms on her injuries had long since failed, and she was too tired to recast them. Besides, her magic reserves were far too low for that anyway. Still, she was determined to make it back to her tower and sleep for the next week.

Yet, something unexpected happened as she stepped off the stairs. She inched around the corner, almost smacking face first into Luna Lovegood. Instantly, she stepped back, not having sensed anyone at all, her bad leg buckling under the strain. However, Luna instantly reached out to steady her.

"Maker, child!" Sybill breathed wearily, leaning against the wall with one hand over her heart. "You shouldn't just jump out at people like that."

"I did not jump, Professor," the blonde replied, blinking her large eyes. She casually glanced around, searching for anyone else, the castle confirming that they were the only ones around. "What happened?" she asked, nodding to Trelawney's leg and the bloodspots on her robe.

"A Death Eater attack, but it was subverted," Sybill said as she straightened, taking a tentative step to head on her not-so-merry way. "So there is nothing to worry about. I'm simply on call this week and have just gotten back." She moved slowly, hesitating when she saw that Luna was eyeing her speculatively. "There were several raids tonight, and I am rather tired if you do not mind."

"Who was attacked?" the blonde asked, giving the woman a supporting shoulder. She would have rather conjured a stretcher and levitated Sybill to the infirmary, but there was no way the professor would ever allow that. Besides, Luna would be lucky if she could even get her friend to consider going to the Hospital Wing. For a Healer, Fiona Ravenclaw had always been notoriously stubborn about her health.

Trelawney exhaled slowly and gratefully leaned on her companion. "Several people," she answered as they continued down the hallway. It was much easier this time with her weight on the fifth-year instead of her bad leg.

"Any Order members?" Luna questioned with bated breath, subtly casting a Diagnostic spell on her friend with the wand in her free hand. "Their families?"

Sybill felt the trickle of magic wash over her, but she was too tired to really care at this point. "They tried the Tonks' house, but Andromeda and Ted have already moved out. The Shacklebolts were home though, and their wards failed completely before they could leave. Apparently, Voldemort has a quite powerful Warder among his followers, and whomever it is put up Anti-Apparition, Portkey, and Floo wards at the same time." She grimaced as they turned the corner, only to be faced with yet another staircase. What madness had possessed her to choose the North Tower for her living quarters?

The fifth-year's eyebrows lifted. "Really," she asked with surprise, knowing just how difficult it was to take down wards, while constructing and holding others at the same time. It was hard without several days' worth of groundwork, and to do so in the span of minutes was impossibly complicated, even if they were only meant to be temporary.

"What about the Shacklebolts?" she inquired after a moment, helping her friend hobble up a step. "Is Kingsley alright? I thought he was still recovering." Something suddenly occurred to her. "Isn't he staying at his sister's house?"

"Yes, he was there along with Persephone and her oldest daughter, but even if he wasn't, it wouldn't have mattered much anyway. His house is next door and is under of the same warding." Trelawney seemed to find this amusing for some reason as they limped along, already wheezing from exertion. "The girl's already out of Hogwarts and attending a university. Luckily for them, she wants to be a Curse Breaker and knows some pretty wicked spells."

A smirk graced her lips as she remembered some of the curses the girl had used. They had been particularly nasty.

However, Sybill grunted as her mind recalled other things as well, including the shape of the Shacklebolts and their house after the Death Eaters were through. "Otherwise, I'm not sure they would have made it," she went on, slightly breathless. "Kingsley is still not in the best of shape, and this will undoubtedly set him back. But he will be fine in a few weeks."

The fifth-year nodded, her eyes clouded over in thought. "Hm… I think I remember her – the Shacklebolt girl," Luna murmured. "She was a Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team a few years ago."

"Aye, a Prefect, too," the older woman responded, pausing to take a break as they went up the final staircase. She bent over slightly, panting in earnest.

"Let me take you to Madam Pomfrey," Luna said gently, but the professor shook her head.

"Poppy is not back yet. She's still treating people."

However, the fifth-year was not deterred. "Why didn't you let her look at you then?" Her blue eyes narrowed with suspicion, clearly wondering why a Healer would refuse treatment.

"She was busy," Sybill defended. "Diggle had to be Apparated out to St. Mungos, and Kingsley's niece was hit with _Cruciatus_ at least once." She grimaced deeply, still panting. "One of the younger Auror recruits took a Slashing curse to the neck. The poor girl almost didn't make it." Trelawney refused to admit that the other witch would have died had she not used her magic to tie the girl's life-force to her body while they healed her. Nor would she admit that she had been forced to do the same for Diggle, almost draining herself completely to keep her fellow Order member alive.

Luna inclined her head. "Then why didn't you heal yourself, and for that matter, why are your spells so weak that they are fading?" She glanced over her companion with knowing eyes. "You've exhausted yourself, stretched your magic to its limits. That's why you didn't Floo back to your rooms. You didn't think you'd make it with your reserves all but gone. And I'm willing to bet a hundred Galleons that you took a Portkey or something similar back here." Her eyes pointedly fixed on a spot on Trelawney's robes near her collarbone, the exact place where her phoenix pinion was hidden underneath.

Sybill tried not to look so very guilty. "Yes," she put in tiredly, deciding not to lie, "but the blasted thing deposited me just outside the Great Hall, refusing to take me to my rooms."

The blonde stood silently for a moment, shaking her head. Finally, she just leaned the other witch on her shoulder again, all but carrying her friend down the final corridor to her quarters. The two went quietly for several moments, the portrait entrance to Sybill's rooms thankfully coming into view.

Trelawney poked her phoenix pinion testily with one finger as they slowed. "Why couldn't you have just deposited me here earlier?" she muttered, voice full of accusation. "Bloody useless."

Luna chuckled but stopped since she was jostling her friend. "The Gate can be rather difficult at times, but it is not always useless." She smiled softly as she opened Sybill's portrait-guard with a wave of her hand. "How else do you think I knew where to find you?"

* * *

**_Hogwarts, The Defense Professor's Office: November 17th, 1996_**

Hermione grunted, diving out of the way of a purple-yellow hex as her Shield spell failed. Another spell whizzed by, sizzling through the tips of her hair. She ducked again as a third came at her, mutely berating herself as her opponent graciously gave her enough time to scrambled to her feet, panting the entire time. She really needed to exercise more, and no, lugging her books around didn't count.

His consideration ended as she rose, and he quickly sent four spells at her in rapid succession. The first two impacted her hastily erected shield, but the third shattered it, clipping her shoulder. Instantly, her entire arm went numb, and she couldn't even move out of the way of the final burst of light, which hit her squarely in the chest.

Once more, she was knocked to the ground, and only her adversary's quick Cushioning charm prevented her head from connecting with the stone floor. Somehow, she rolled over, managing to find her feet, and her breath echoed in her ears as she struggled to draw in enough air, her face red and sweaty.

From the side, Arthur Weasley grimaced in sympathy. Both of them really hated dueling Harry, and damn him if he didn't beat them every time. Hermione might have been smart. She might know thousands of spells. She might even have been powerful. But Harry had all that and more, and even if he had technically not lived as long as her in either of his lifetimes, he still managed to be a tough opponent.

Books and intelligence only got one so far. Sometimes, one had to be clever, cunning, and sly. Snake-like. Not to mention physically fit.

Slytherin's gift was in surviving chaos, in creating it as he disrupted whatever foolproof plans his adversary had created. And Arthur fully blamed Luna, Fawkes, and Hogwarts for teaching him even more spells over the last few months, for tutoring him in the magics that he had missed with his early death. Now, he was even more dangerous than before, and he was almost running literal circles around poor Hermione, who was still coughing on the floor.

Still, the reborn Salazar was going easy on her, and all three of them knew it. While she was good at dueling in theory, the Department of Mysteries had proven that she really needed to work on her real world application, and the recent battle at Halloween had only reinforced this notion. She knew how to perform spells in a controlled environment, and a real fight was anything but that. The Death Eaters wouldn't hesitate to hurt her, to kill her, and she needed to practice and improve her if she wanted any chance to survive. Like her redheaded onlooker, Hermione had been an academic in her past life and was well on her way to repeating that, and for all her knowledge, she wasn't exactly the best in a fight.

Arthur suffered from the same problem, which was why he was here now, watching his adopted niece scuttle to her feet. Harry had sportingly agreed to help his friends improve their skills, but even then, he didn't go full out. A fact that was emphasized when he didn't immediately descend on his fellow Gryffindor, allowing her a moment to catch her breath. The point of this exercise was not for Harry to simply defeat her, but for his opponent to actually learn something. This was an opportunity for her to work on her casting and resourcefulness, not to mention making her learn to duck quicker.

'And to focus,' Arthur quickly amended, watching as Hermione was distracted by another constant barrage of spells.

A few nicked her as she attempted to cast shield, and she was too intent on her task to notice what her opponent was now doing. The redhead saw a white-gold hex leave Harry's wand, a tingle of forewarning shooting down his spine. A second later, the spell hit Hermione full in the face, the girl not even having the time to move out of the way.

She fell to her knees as she was overwhelmed by images within her own mind, and every nightmare she had ever had raced past her eyes. Her stomach churned in protest as a scream caught in her throat, and her most recent ones pounded in her head, a hazy image of her parents' dead bodies blurring by, only to be replaced by another one.

It wasn't real. This had never happened. But as more and more images flew by, each one worse than the ones previous, she started to doubt that fact.

A shriek tore free from her mouth, and tears formed at the corners of her eyes, even as she struggled against the images. She tried to control her mind, rein in her thoughts, but she couldn't. The magic was too overwhelming, clouding over any rational, until she was only left with her most terrifying and deepest fears.

Yet, just as suddenly as the spell had begun, it ended. And Hermione sucked in a deep breath as her eyes snapped open, a face inches from her own. Instantly, she started backwards, but he quickly steadied her.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry asked, green eyes gleaming guiltily as he took in her tear streaked face. Apparently, he hadn't thought she would react this badly.

"I…" she began, watching the room go in circles around her.

At least, he hadn't conjured the snakes again.

"I will be," the Prefect finally answered, seeing him wave off someone in the background. It was probably Arthur, who had been watching their duel, waiting for his own turn. A sudden thought occurred to her then as she saw her distracted friend's head move to the side.

Technically, their duel wasn't over.

Hermione tried not to smirk as she waited for the room to stop spinning. When it didn't, she just shrugged and jerkily brought her wand up, but the Prefect faltered a second later, finally noticing a very important fact. Her wand wasn't in her hand, and her eyes weaved to the floor, which was doing a strange sort of jig underneath her. However, her wand wasn't there either, and she glanced up again, only to growl.

Harry just smiled at her, twirling her wand through his fingertips. The bastard had taken it, and she hadn't even realized until several minutes after the fact.

She exhaled dejectedly, but her sigh morphed into a groan as her head gave a painful throb. An echo of Harry's last spell whipped through her brain.

"Hermione?"

"I'm fine," she inserted quickly, brushing him off. "Just a bit dazed still." She braced her hands on the floor, preparing to get up, swaying a bit. "Well, more than a bit dazed. The world is spinning around and around me is more accurate." Her stomach did a strange dance inside her.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Harry questioned, taking in her stream of words and her glazed over eyes. "Maybe I should take you to see Sybill. You seem a bit out of it. She could--"

"No," Hermione cut him off. "I'll be just fine. I told you not to go easy on me, and you didn't. Well, you did, but easy for you is difficult for me." Hermione exhaled, the room mostly righting itself. "Don't worry about it. I need to know what it's really like in a fight, and you showed me. Now, I can improve. Besides, your spell did exactly what you wanted it to do… distract me. Very effective. Too effective." She snapped her mouth shut then, stemming the rest of her babble. It was a nasty habit of hers, one that Draco was still trying to break her of.

Harry didn't say anything else, offering his friend a helping hand up. She took it, looking over him as she stood.

Bollocks. He didn't even look tired. There was a light beading of sweat at his forehead, and his face was faintly flushed. Nevertheless, he was breathing at a normal rate, looking like he hadn't been doing anything more invigorating than taking an evening stroll at the end of a warm day.

She silently berated herself, wishing that her idea of exercise was more than lugging her books from the library to the Gryffindor dorms. If it was, she might have done better in their fight. Then again, she hadn't been dueling Dom almost every other day for hours at a time, so her improvement was debatable.

Arthur, who had been watching the entire thing, glanced at her worriedly. Thankfully, however, he remained silent as she staggered over, watching her imitate Tristan Slytherin after a three day bender. He was even nice enough to magic her a chair, which she promptly dropped into.

"Thanks and good luck," Hermione said, seeing Harry wave the other man over. Apparently, it was Arthur's turn to have his ass handed to him, and the redhead walked away, looking like he was off to fight death itself.

Arthur briefly recalled his last duel with Harry as he stepped towards the center of the room. It had involved snakes… lots and lots of snakes. Serpents of every size and color, all of which insisted that he was the tastiest treat ever. He shuddered just remembering how long it had taken Trelawney to heal him afterwards.

Harry swished his wand through the air then and smiled as the redhead approached, his eyes gleaming in a very familiar manner. Arthur suddenly wished that he had taken Defense class a bit more seriously in school.

* * *

_Insomnium Aegritudo_: Nightmare Sickness. Non-verbal. Traps a person within their own mind, forcing them to relive their worst nightmares.

A hundred House points if you can tell me where I got the name for the spell.

AN: Alright, I have a question to pose for everyone: what type of relationship should Neville and Draco have? I.e. are they brother-like or something else entirely? I have minor ship pairings in mind for them, but it would be a bit of a bother to set those up. So should I just pair them together, then? Please tell me what you think.

Also, I know the timing of Pansy's birthday is convenient. However, November 15th was the date I was using in my other story, and I try to use the same for both to minimize confusion. It is purely coincidental.

**Things to think about**: How will the rest of the school handle Draco's guardianship? How did Neville's little chat with Bellatrix go?

_To everyone who __read or reviewed_: Thanks.

_Chapter __Six: Past Imperfect_

* * *

Ever Hopeful,

_Azar_

**Updated and Edited:**

**06/26/08**


	7. Past Imperfect

**Disclaimer**: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work. I own nothing except Salazar's wife, son, and various other original characters. This story is an AU of sixth year, but it will contain a few spoilers from _Half-Blood Prince_ and _Deathly Hallows_. However, it will still seriously diverge from canon. Also, this story is a sequel and will not make any sense without first reading _How to Tell the Truth from the Lies_.

* * *

"blah": dialogue

'blah': thoughts

**_"blah"_** : Parseltongue

_"blah"_: Legilimency/Telepathy

_Italics_: excerpt from a book /newspaper or any other written form

**Bold**: a word or phrase that is emphasized

**_Italics, Underlined, and Bold_**: location/date of a scene in the story

* * *

**Chapter Six: Past Imperfect**

**_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, The Headmaster's Office: November 20th, 1996 (Late Afternoon)_**

Dominic de Dorée had lived for a great many years and had done a great many things. Some good. Most neutral. And others more terrible than others could imagine. More horrible than he ever cared to admit, locked deep inside himself never to be brought forth again. Never mentioned but always remembered.

And Dom found that such regret left a bitter taste in his mouth. The weight of decisions made was heavy indeed. Unalterable but unavoidable. Sins of necessity and circumstance more than choice. Damnation earned to save someone else.

After all, Dom had once been a Death Eater.

**(Flashback)**

"As far as I can tell, the artifacts recovered are minor," Rookwood said as he glanced at the papers in front of him. "Thirteen semi-rare spellbooks, three wands in various states of repair, eleven rings with weak enchantments, a few other odds and ends. It seems that everything had been gone through by the Dark Lord's servants."

His boss leaned back in his chair, contemplating the robbery. "Did anyone see you take what was left?"

"No, no one saw else." Rookwood shook his head. "They all assume the Death Eaters took everything not spelled down. Not that there was much to begin with. Goldstein's been semi-retired for some time now. He hasn't seriously dealt in antiquities for nearly a decade."

Revan rubbed a hand over his chin. "Then, why steal from him in the first place?" he mused rhetorically. "Unless there was something of particular value or interest. Or they believed that there was. Did you get an inventory?"

"Yes." The younger man flipped through his papers before settling on one. "Nothing really. A collection of coins dating from the eleventh century, a grimoire written in a language no one could read, a sword that reportedly belonged to--"

"A book no one could read?" Revan interrupted.

"Ah… yes." Rookwood traced a finger along the paragraph in front of him. "Blue-covered with silverish runes. Every page inside was filled, but like I said, no one recognized the language. Goldstein approached several scholars when he first purchased it with no luck."

"That has to been what they were after," Revan allowed, idly moving a strand of long brown hair from his shoulder. "Either one of the Dark Lord's followers can read it, or they know someone who can."

Augustus marveled at how quickly the man had figured it out. He settled more fully in his chair, absentmindedly listening to the faint hum of the secrecy wards around them. Even as habituated as he was to them, Rookwood could still feel the tingle of magic as he sat in Revan's office. A testament to the man's power.

"And what of the Death Eaters themselves?" Revan's voice filtered through his mind. "The rising Dark Lord's followers?" There was a peculiar timbre to his tone. Searching but not accusing.

Rookwood felt a twinge in his belly. "They all escaped. The Aurors didn't even arrive until after they'd already left."

"Hm…" Revan's eyes narrowed. "Almost like they knew exactly when to leave."

"Sir?" Rookwood tried not to fidget.

There was a snort. "Oh, come now. Surely, you must have heard whispers. Rumors of sympathizers in the Ministry." Revan looked at him steadily. "Of more than simple sympathizers."

Something within Rookwood lurched. It constricted and twisted, winding his organs together like a visceral rope. And his boss just watched. Just studied him with a neutral expression. Only to drop a bombshell.

"Of course, some of that is not rumor." Revan casually ran a fingertip over the rim of his teacup. "I should think you off all people know that."

Rookwood's insides froze over at the implication. But he came back to himself a second later, wrist slowly twitching to release his wand. The cedar wood slid down to his fingers, hidden from sight by the desk between them.

"Did you honestly think I would not find out, my dear student?" Revan asked softly, face a mask. "I have been your mentor from the very first day you set foot in this department. I personally recruited you from Hogwarts. Headboy and among the top of your year. Second only to Molly Prewitt."

Rookwood's hand tightened until it was white, nearly snapping his wand. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead to his pockmarked cheek. His heart fluttered painfully as a strange feeling squeezed at his chest.

"I know you, Augustus." Revan's silvery eyes practically glowed. "Just as surely as I know that you have your wand in hand under the desk."

"Come to turn me in then?" Augustus finally spoke. "If you even go that far. Perhaps I'll simply disappear."

Revan gazed at him over steepled fingers. "No." Everything about him was unreadable. "No, not that at all."

"What?" It came out at a lower pitch than normal, hoarse with disbelief. "What?" Rookwood repeated. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Revan chuckled then. "I know you, Augustus, as surely as you know me. When have I ever shown true loyalty to the Ministry?"

His subordinate paused and considered for a long moment. The sentiment was certainly true. Revan was not pleased with his employer, and that was putting it lightly. Augustus had long believed that much of his mentor's research toed the line of legality, often stepping beyond. Further, he clearly recalled several long rants over the Ministry's stupidity, talks during tea about the Dark Arts and forbidden magics, other little hints and implications. Revan was obviously a sympathizer, something he had suspected for a time now. But Rookwood had hoped that his boss would simply look the other way, would know of his doings but pretend ignorance. This was entirely unexpected.

"This is not a trap, Augustus," Revan added, expression devoid of its normal good humor. "Or a test of loyalty. I know that I can trust you. Can you find it within yourself to trust me?"

Rookwood hesitated but slowly released his wand and set it in his lap. "What do you intend to do?" His mind raced with the possibilities, thoughts dancing all over the place.

"Nothing nearly as horrible as you are imagining," his mentor replied with a vague sense of amusement.

Augustus had the grace to flush. "What is it that you want then?"

"I want you to tell me more." Revan smiled then, pleased if cautious, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Tell me about the Dark Lord."

**(End of Flashback)**

And such a funny thing to recall as he sat in the headmaster's office, sipping at tea gone cold. Lost to the knowledge that the only reason he was here in Hogwarts and not tossed out on his ear or in a cell was because of Harry. The very person he had both betrayed and then saved. Only to continuously betray again. Treachery through omission.

A that thought, there was the sound of a throat clearing. Dom jumped, blinking rapidly. He lifted his head to look at Dumbledore, startled out of his reverie.

"You seemed lost to your own world, my boy," the old professor commented and studied the male across from him. "Knut for your thoughts."

Dom exhaled. "Just remembered something I need to deal with. A personal matter."

The headmaster smiled in understanding but did not question further. Instead, he waved his hand, the tea on the table instantly warm again. Dumbledore practically twinkled with amusement as he nibbled on a lemon-flavored biscuit and watched as Dom shook himself from his memory.

"Ah, forgive me. My mind often wanders," the vampire put in lightly. "It is no matter."

Albus beamed. "No worries. I find that such a thing often happens to me as well. A consequence of age I expect." He paused for a minute to take a sip of tea. "Now," the headmaster finally directed them back on topic, "as I said before, you would definitely be a benefit to the Order, specifically with your knowledge and potential for connections. I would like you to attend the meeting with me two nights from now, allow me to introduce you to everyone."

The Defense professor considered. "I was supposed to practice dueling with Harry, but we can do that in the afternoon instead. I think he would rather I go."

"Very good. Very good indeed." Dumbledore chewed on his biscuit. "Do you have any recommendations for potential allies or new members? As you can see, we need all the help we can get."

"A few." Dom's eyes narrowed in thought. "Some from my current incarnation's university days. Two or three non-humans who know my true name." The vampire tapped his cup carelessly. "Though their willingness is anyone's guess. Many see no reason to support the Ministry, even in a second or third-hand capacity. They have no love of the current government and have little to lose if it falls."

His companion nodded. "Perhaps you could get into contact with a few covens then. Especially if you're a member of one." Dumbledore gazed at him hopefully.

But Dom shook his head. A coven for all intents and purposes was a large and extended vampire family but a rather close-knit one. Many of his kind gravitated to such things for protection or even simple companionship. To have someone to face the ages with until they too finally died. Vampires were like humans in that regards, only they lived much, much longer. But they weren't immortal, not by a long-shot. Like wizards and witches, their own inherent power determined how long they would live, and many could not use magic as freely or easily as Dom. Most vampires didn't even reach a thousand, though five hundred was within reach.

Dom, however, was lucky on that front. He wasn't a purebred strictly speaking, having had a sorcerer for a grandparent, among other things. And that was enough to more than double his lifespan and make him as powerful as most human magic users. If not more so, considering how lazy the majority of them were.

"No," Dom finally answered, "I have not been in a coven for centuries. Never really my thing, I suppose. Many members are related through blood or marriage, sometimes siring and adoption. But my family was always very small, not even a proper clan. We never grew to be something like that." He paused to think for a moment. "I do not think any active covens remain in Britain. Only a few loners like myself or maybe a mated pair or two with their children. Most have fled to friendlier lands."

The headmaster steepled his hands. "Yes, the Ministry's policy for the last hundred years or so would've undoubtedly seen to that. What of the mainland?"

The vampire sighed. "Not many of us in France either. I would say that those who are still in Europe are in the northern lands, Norway and the like. Perhaps some in Switzerland. Certainly not in Romania or the lands to the east."

Dumbledore couldn't help but smile. "Too many Muggles looking for you there I'd think." He reached for his drink.

"Especially after that stupid book." The Defense professor crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

The old man chuckled, but then, his face took a more serious turn. Albus very carefully set down his tea and nudged the plate more fully on the table. And there was something about the human's eyes, the hard gleam to them that made Dom hesitate. A fierce chill of foreboding rolled down his spine like a bead of sweat. He knew he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. Not in the slightest. Not at all.

Dumbledore exhaled and folded his hands in his lap. "What do you know about liches?"

The vampire froze. "Liches?" A part of him desperately hoped he had misheard, even as the rest flared with anger.

Albus gave a slow and serious nod. His twinkle had completely vanished, swallowed by the abyss.

"Abominations." Dom felt his lip curl with absolute revulsion. "Not Dark. Not Light. Just perversion. Against everything natural. A blight on nature herself. One of the worst magics in existence." He all but hissed the last, pointed canines showing.

The old man sighed but said nothing. He knew there was more.

"They are…" Dom gritted his teeth for a moment. "Wizards who have exchange their life for power. They are dead but walk as the living, draining the life-force and power from others since they have none of their own. They tie their soul to either their own corpse or another object to stay in this world." The vampire turned away. "The former is… like an Inferi that retains their minds. The latter is a much more difficult magic, but they are able to transfer from body to body. After evicting the previous inhabitant that is." He shuddered at the mere thought.

"How is that different from a Horcrux?" Dumbledore interrupted softly. There was a calculating cast to his face, hard but infinitely saddened.

Dom's head snapped up, though he hadn't even realized it had lowered. "A horcrux is a soul shard. A split soul. It can live like a parasite off another without killing." He allowed emotionlessly, "There is some overlap, but those with a horcrux are not dead. The entire point is to evade it. They do not die unless all the horcruxes are destroyed; some part of them always remains alive and can call back the other soul fragments."

He exhaled. One hand clenched at his side, fingernails biting into his palm. Blood pooled and then flowed down his skin, but it was an anchor to reality and brought him back to himself.

"They can also use constructed bodies or animals. Liches cannot; they can only take from sapients." Dom slowly unclenched his hand. "For all intents and purposes, a lich is little more than an animated corpse with the mind and magic of a man. They can only ever inhabit dead flesh. Not even Voldemort went that far." He bit the inside of his mouth. "The sole good thing is that a lich cannot grow more powerful. He or she only ever has the same magic they possessed at their transformation."

Dumbledore sighed, a pained and tired sound. "A lich has joined Voldemort's army."

Dom clenched his hand again. His teeth ground together. His insides crawled beneath his skin, shivers of disgust. But he took a very deep breath and somehow managed to fight back his nausea.

"I figured as much when you asked. I had only hoped that I was wrong," the vampire murmured after a minute. "How did you find out?"

"Rumors Severus reported and Bellatrix later confirmed," Albus replied quietly. "She said that Voldemort has been trying to find one willing to serve for some time, and apparently, they have finally reached an agreement. Filius felt powerful death magic at a recent raid, and he's always had a strong sense for such things."

"He should," Dom commented absentmindedly, still focused on the lich. "He is part sprite, after all."

The old man wasn't even going to ask how Dom knew. "Yes," the headmaster confirmed. "His paternal grandmother. There is some brownie lineage on his mother's side as well."

The Defense professor gave a curt nod but redirected the topic. "He sensed the lich at a raid you said. Which one?"

"Just last week." Albus continued, "The attack on Whimsic Alley in Glasg--"

A loud and ringing sound interrupted him then, so shrill that it startled the sleeping portraits on the walls. Dumbledore was instantly on his feet and stepping over to one of the many devices on his desk that had just lit up, now pulsing a bluish light. Dom was quick to follow, right on the old man's heels.

"It's an alert," the headmaster answered his companion's unspoken question. "There is an attack in progress."

Fawkes chose that moment to flash into existence on his perch. The bird took mere seconds to fly to his friend's shoulder.

"Where? And who sent the message?" Dom questioned, only giving the phoenix a cursory glance.

Dumbledore twisted the device in his hands, and a face appeared in the small mirror at the top. Definitely feminine, neither young nor old but something in between with dangling earrings just visible.

"Sybill," the old man whispered, turning the device again. A burning cottage took the place of the Divination teacher along with coordinates and a few strange runes. "Midsomer Worthy. A mixed community of magic and Muggle." He carefully but quickly put the device back down and waved his colleague closer. "If you wouldn't mind accompanying me--"

He didn't even get a chance to finish before Dom snagged a hold of his robes.

Albus blinked. "Oh… well, then. Fawkes, if you would please?"

The phoenix jerked his head. And all three of them disappeared in a burst of flames.

* * *

**_Midsomer Worthy, The Outskirts: The Same Day (Evening)_**

It should have been quaint. Homey. The sort of place people chose to have a family. Where everyone knew everyone else. Where neighbors were friends and, more often than not, kin. A nice little hamlet nestled between a small forest and some old castle ruins. Safe. Secure.

Yet, reality was far different.

The entire village was burning. Not a single building was untouched. Already the pub and post office were little more than smoldering rubble. The fire station was in similar shape, one of the first things to go. Flames even licked the roof of the village church, already spreading to the old cemetery just beyond.

And in the meantime, children shrieked for their mothers. Men and women ran back and forth in search of their families. Spells flew through the air, a rainbow of deadly colors.

The Death Eaters just laughed.

Molly Weasley stood amidst the chaos, firing spell after spell at her two opponents. She successfully downed one with a silently cast Concussion hex, the other swiftly meeting a similar fate. The woman then turned to a third Death Eater and sent him crashing into a nearby wall. He twitched but didn't get back up. Molly searched for another enemy, mind stirring as she looked around, but none were close by.

Beside her, Bill shielded a Muggle and his son before banishing his own opponent into a burning home. The man screamed as he was engulfed, but the sound soon died and was forgotten. Bill didn't even listen as he shoved a Portkey into the Muggle's hand, both he and his child disappearing a second later.

Molly just gave a sharp nod of approve as she and her eldest progressed down the main street of the village. A vague feeling of familiarity settled in her stomach as she passed by houses, but the redhead was too preoccupied to care. Her attention instead centered on the battle around her, and a quick Bone-shattering curse to the legs followed by a Stunner from Bill brought down a Death Eater harassing an elderly Squib. Molly's subsequent conjured wall saved Titania Shacklebolt from the Cruciatus curse as she tended to Sturgis Podmore. All three of them Portkeyed to safety soon afterward.

Arthur joined the mother-son duo near the communal garden, bleeding from his left nostril and a small cut on his arm. Tonks wasn't far behind but left their group as they arrived at the green grocers, joining up with Apollo Avis and his oldest nephew as they tried to contain the blaze. Bill went with them, his Curse Breaker skills doing much to put out the fire. The Weasley parents were left with little to do, looking around for anyone else to help.

In the distance, Molly could see Sybill dueling fiercely with a Death Eater. The professor had been the one to call in the raid, on duty at Grimmauld Place for the night. Now, she was fighting for not only her life but that of the two little girls huddled behind some debris to the left of her. Yet, before Molly could rush to help, Sybill sent her opponent flying with a well placed curse. The man landed hard and did not get back up, neck at an unnatural angle. The teacher paid no mind to him, however, too busy calming the girls before shoving an old can in their hands. The two vanished in a whirl.

Dumbledore was just a little way over and by the mostly intact primary school, a whirl of red-purple robes as he fought three people at once. It wasn't surprising that the trio was no match for him, handedly defeated and stunned, down before they even realized what had happened. Albus was already turning to other opponents before they hit the ground.

Dom was off to the side of the headmaster, undoubtedly sticking close to the old man since there was always a chance that one of the Order could attack him by mistake. That and the fact several enemies were nearby. These were better trained than the ones Molly and her family had faced, but it was clear that they weren't the elite. Merely fodder to keep the Order occupied. Simple soldiers. Not the general.

Molly's eyes scanned the area in turn. She was again beset by recollection but shoved it to the side. Too busy Searching. Looking. Feeling. A sudden current of power caught her attention, echoing and deadly. Her gaze unerringly went to the remains of the Town Hall.

And there he was. Black robes and startling white mask lined with silver and red. A deep grey cloak that swished and intersected spells. Battling Bethany Fenwick and Caedus Solo with a cold sort of ferocity. Sending spell after spell in a steady but unpredictable stream. Banishing curses. Exploding hexes. Nameless spells she had no name for. Casting Unforgivables with an ease seen in very few.

Diggle believe what he would, but Molly wasn't an idiot. She knew enough of Arthur's activities in the last war and of her enemies to know who this was without even seeing his face.

Rodolphus Lestrange. Poor Bellatrix's brute of a husband. One of Voldemort's top lieutenants, his chief tactician. And apparently his new favorite to lead missions.

Even as Molly watched, she knew that his opponents were outmatched. He was simply too powerful, too well versed and trained, too skilled despite is years in Azkaban. Despite the fact that adversary was a former Hit Wizard and the other a master in both Charms and Defense.

Sure enough, Lestrange chose that moment to send a wave of molten air at Caedus with a single twitch of his wand. The man managed to dive to the side, but the edge still caught him in the chest. His cloak and robes instantly charred and melted, not to mention the layers of skin beneath. Caedus managed to hold in his scream, though it was clear that he wouldn't be getting back up. Especially when he still continued to sizzle and burn.

Bethany Fenwick faltered then, eyes flickering to her friend. The second of indecision cost her dearly. The woman received a Killing curse to the face for her efforts and dropped lifelessly to the ground.

Lestrange didn't even bother to look at her. He just ground Caedus' wand beneath his boot as he surveyed the area. Not but a minute later he pressed his fingers to his Dark Mark, a trickle of magic rippling through the village. The other Death Eaters hurriedly ended their own battles at the signal, grabbing colleagues as quickly as they could.

Meanwhile, Lestrange gave Dumbledore a scathing glare behind his mask. He grabbed the closest of his injured comrades and Apparated away. His underlings were quick to follow, gone mere seconds later.

Just like that, the battle was over. Only the Order and a few civilians remained, most of the latter dead. The village itself continued to smolder. Thankfully, however, the fire was soon contained due to Apollo and Bill. A few others chipped in, though most were in the process of searching through debris for survivors. Even Dumbledore was seen directing wreckage to the side with his wand, face twisting with sorrow as he came upon body after body.

The Ministry was conspicuous with its absence. Though it was possible and rather likely that they were dealing with another raid somewhere else. Voldemort did have a penchant for running multiple ones simultaneously.

Molly and Arthur were busy patching up their friends before they sent them on their way. Caedus was in too severe a condition for either of them to treat and had to be sent to Saint Mungo's. Bethany was obviously beyond help, but a number of people only had minor scrapes and bruises that were easily healed. Soon enough, there were no injuries left, just clean up.

As things died down, Molly took a moment to just breathe. The skin on the back of her neck prickled as she glanced about. Her memory twinged, noting buildings and landmarks that should be here but weren't, others that shouldn't be but were. A feeling of hazy recollection shot down her spine.

"Arthur," she murmured to her husband, even as she turned her head this way and that, "does this place look… familiar?"

He blinked at her with surprise. "Now that you mention it… well, yes. It does. Have we been here before?"

The magic of this place was strange but pleasant, a memorable taste Arthur couldn't quite recognize. His eyes took in the contour of the land, the slight hills that he felt should be larger. And the tree line was all wrong. It should reach halfway into the village proper, all the way to the town square, lining one side of the cemetery. But it obviously didn't. Further, there weren't supposed to be this many houses, only a handful. And come to think of it, the church shouldn't be there either. There was supposed to be a meadow with an altar of stone in the center.

This was wrong. All wrong. What was this place?

Arthur did a complete turnaround. He took in everything. The village, the woods, the wrecked castle in the distance. There, he paused. Just ruins. Little more than rock and rubble. But somehow important. Somehow known to him.

Only one of the towers still remained. Yet, the Weasley patriarch could see that it had once been great. Not circular but more of a triangle-shape. Something easily seeable even in the dying light. Very distinct. Very identifiable.

Arthur knew that he had been here before. And the not-so-subtle tingle across his mind indicated that he was more a question of when over if. Certainly not in this lifetime.

In his mind's eye, Arthur could picture the castle for what it had once been. Small and simple but grand. Magic seeped into every rook. Older even than him. Ancient but strong.

A jolt ran through his body. Going to his very core.

Arthur shuddered. He knew this place. Had visited this place, **lived** in this place. The seat of their family. A home away from home.

This was where Hufflepuff had once lived.

* * *

AN: It's ALIVE!! Yes, I am actually trying to bring this story back. However, I'm in med school, which comes first. Updates will not be on a set schedule but whenever I have the time. I am sorry if anyone is bothered by that, but this is just the way it has to be.

Also, I came up with the lich idea long before book seven came out. And a hundred House points if you know where the name of the village is from.

**Things to think about**: Why would Revan/Dom join Voldemort? Will anyone ever learn the complete truth about him?

_To everyone who read or reviewed_: Thank you so very much.

_Chapter Seven: The Lioness and her Cubs_

* * *

Ever Hopeful,

_Azar_


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